fr- 


COPYRIGHT  BY 

G.  P.     PUTNAM'S  SONS 

1880 


TO 
MARK    HOPKINS,    D.  D., 

THE   REVERED    TEACHER   AND    LIFE-LONG   FRIEND, 
FOR    HIS    EARNEST   ENCOURAGEMENT   OF    THE    AUTHOR'S    PEN, 

AND    FOR    HIS    REPEATED    WISH 
TO    SEE    ITS    PRODUCTS    IN    A    PRINTED    VOLUME, 

THIS   LITTLE   BOOK 

IS   GRATEFULLY   AND    AFFECTIONATELY    DEDICATED 
BY    THE   AUTHOR. 


M182G44 


PREFACE. 

THE  author  of  the  following  verses  frankly  owns 
that  he  once  indulged  the  hope  of  seeing  them 
gathered  from  the  various  periodicals  in  which  they 
originally  appeared,  and  issued  in  book  form  ;  but 
for  a  long  time  past,  that  pleasing  vision  had  been 
dispelled  by  the  stern  realities  of  later  life.  He 
solaced  himself  for  its  loss,  however,  with  the  reflec 
tion  that  literary  fame,  like  all  other,  is  only  for  the 
favored  few  ;  and  even  those  with  the  highest  en 
dowments  have  been  so  anticipated  by  their  prede 
cessors,  that  they  can  expect  to  add  but  little  that 
is  rare  or  memorable  to  the  vast  treasury  of  orig 
inal  thought.  Humbly  accepting  his  just  place 
among  the  innumerable  inheritors  of  oblivion,  he 
had  ceased  to  remember  the  foundlings  of  his  fancy, 
when  the  fond  partiality  of  his  kindred  took  in 
hand  the  task  of  rescuing  them  from  their  long  ob 
scurity,  and  of  soliciting  for  their  reunion  such 
chance  for  further  life,  as  their  collected  vitality 
might  seem  to  warrant.  He  has  called  them  echoes 
— audible  visitants  from  the  past — yet  each  with  its 


VI  P "RE FA  CE. 

own  individuality.  Should  their  mingled  strain  of 
grave  and  gay  seem  unnatural,  the  author  begs  to 
remind  the  reader  that  in  the  music  of  humanity 
the  minor  key  is  as  often  heard  as  its  more  joyous 
fellows.  He  gave  voice,  for  the  most  part,  to  the 
originals  of  these  echoes  while  toiling  in  the  great 
city  to  which  fortune  had  directed  his  unwilling 
steps,  far  from  those  rural  felicities  so  vividly  re 
membered,  so  inconsolably  regretted,  by  the  rustic 
exile  to  the  strange  artificialities  of  urban  life. 
Should  these  reiterated  regrets  appear  selfish  and 
unmanly,  he  asks  the  critic  to  consider  the  depth  of 
first  impressions,"  the  force  of  early  habit  and  asso 
ciation,  and  the  fact  that  there  are  creatures  of 
the  wild,  utterly  untamable  by  all  the  kindnesses  of 
city  or  country.  In  justice  to  his  honored  publish 
ers,  he  assumes  the  entire  responsibility  for  reviving 
the  awful  echoes  of  the  recent  conflict.  In  them 
selves,  these  are  now  of  little  consequence,  save  as 
the  current  expressions  of  a  very  earnest  and 
anxious  patriotism  ;  and,  in  that  view,  may  prove  of 
interest  to  some  future  enquirer  into  the  motives 
and  passions  of  the  late  rebellion.  Macaulay  did 
not  disdain  to  cull  a  wayside  weed,  even  for  history. 
In  conclusion,  he  truly  avers  that  neither  during 
nor  since  their  frenzied  enterprise  did  he  entertain 
any  but  the  kindest  feelings  toward  all  his  Southern 
brethren  ;  save  only  the  guilty  few,  who  would  rule 
or  ruin  the  republic  which  had  been  founded  by 
Washington  and  his  immortal  compeers. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

THE  CLERK'S  DREAM     .         .         .         .        .        .        .  i 

PASS  ON,  RELENTLESS  WORLD     .         .         .         .         .  3! 

LOVE'S  SECOND-SIGHT    .                 34 

LIGHT             .........  36 

HYMN   TO   THE   CLOUDS               ....  40 

ORPHEUS    IN   HADES .  47 

THE   LAST   AUTUMNAL   WALK 52 

TO    A   BUTTERFLY    SEEN   IN   A   CROWDED    STREET             .  55 

MY   FRIEND   THE    FRIEND           ......  58 

THE    DOOMED  SHIP       .......  60 

THE    SEA-NYMPHS   TO   THE    DRYADS           ....  62 

EDITH            .........  65 

THE  HOME-VALENTINE 67 

ARE  YOU  'ROUND  YET  ?......  69 

LINCOLN,  MARTYR .72 

SO    TIRED 75 

THE   MOUNTAIN   MONARCH       .            .....  76 

PLEA   FOR   THE    SPOILT   CHILDREN         ....  79 

HURRAH   FOR   MEMMIXGER !       .                                                            .  80 

THE    SEER   THAT   DIDN'T    SEE   IT              ....  82 

COUNTERFEIT  PRESENTIMENT 84 

SUMTER         .........  88 

INVOCATION 89 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS, 

PAGE. 

IMPUDENCE •  Q1 

A   VISION   OF   DIXIE   AND    DOUGH    FACES        ...  93 

JONATHAN   AND   JOHN 96 

BULLY    FOR   YOU,    JOHN   BULL  ! IOO 

DREAM    OF   THE   DEMOS IO3 

WHO   WILL  THINK   OF    HENRY  ? .            .            ,            .            .  IO5 

LINES   TO   A   CHRYSALIS IO6 

LOOK   ALOFT *            .            .  IOQ 

THE   ORANGE  TREE Ill 

KUBLEH H4 

HANNAH  DUSTAN 1 15 

TO  THE  HILLS '  .        .  HQ 

THE  WONDER  THAT  MIGHT  HAVE  BEEN       .        .        .122 

CRADLE  COVERLET     .         .         .         .         ,         .         .  124 

THE  FALCON  AND  DOVE                126 

IN  MEMORIAM    .        .  , 138 

BRIDEGROOM  TO  BRIDE 143 

HARD-HANDS'  PETITION 144 

NEVER  FEAR          ........  145 

TO  A  FUNERAL  WREATH 147 

CENTRAL  PARK       ........  149 

TO  A  MINIATURE        .         .         .         .         .         .         .  152 

TO  MEMORY  DEAR .  153 

TO  ELIZABETH  ON  HER  SECOND  BIRTHDAY         .         .  154 
LINES  TO  A  DEAR  FRIEND     .         .         .         .         .         .158 

LINES  ON  REVISITING  BERKSHIRE       ....  l6o 

DEATH 162 

WAITING   FOR   MORNING   AT    PROFILE   MOUNTAIN             .  165 

LOOK   NOT   THOU    UPON   THE   WINE   WHEN   IT    IS   RED       .  l6j 

THE   OPTIMIST 169 

THE   BUYER   BOUGHT 172 

LINES   TO   A   YOUNG   FRIEND 174 

CLERK-VESPERS   IN   WALL   STREET               .            .            •            •  175 

IT   IS   WELL  WITH    THE  CHILD                .           .           .           .  178 


CONTENTS.  lx 

PAGE. 

LINES  ON  REVISITING  A  FAVORITE  LAKE       .         .  l8o 

THE  PARTING  BY  THE  SEA 184 

THE  LAST  WATCH 1 86 

LINES  TO  A  DEAR  YOUNG  FRIEND     ....  l88 

BROTHER  TO  BROTHERS IQO 

INTRODUCTORY  LINES  FOR  A  FRIEND'S  ALBUM          .  163 
THE  TEMPTATION           .         .         .         .         ...         -195 

NOTHING  LOST  . 198 

TO  DASYA  ELEGANS 199 

INVOCATION  TO  WINTER  .....  2OI 

TO  THE  JOSEPHS  AND  PHAROAHS  OF  THE  WEST  .  203 

ONCE  ON  A  TIME 2O5 

TO  VIRGINIA 208 

THE  ENCHANTRESS 2OQ 

TO  NAPOLEON  THE  GREAT,  1848          .        .        .        .211 

CENTENNIAL  ECHOES  .         .         .         .         .         .  214 

THE  MOTHER'S  HOME-CALL    .        .        ...        .        .  222 

RESPONSE  OF  THE  RECALLED     .....  224 

LIFE  BEYOND  LIFE 226 

LINES  TO  A  FRIEND 228 

TO  WILLIE 230 

MISERERE  ........  232 

WHEN  ? 234 

LINES  TO  CLARA  .....  f  ,  236 

CLARA   AND   AGNES 238 

DREAM    OF    RENT    SHACKLES 240 

SALT    RIVER 242 

CAPITOLIAN    SOLILOQUY 245 

INSURANCE  ECHOES 248 

THE   POETRY    OF   FIRE   INSURANCE        .  .  .  .  25! 

THE   SAMSON   OF   THE    HEARTH         .....  256 

SAFE   AND    SOUND          .  ...  .  .  .  .  26o 

THE   PROMETHEAN   FLAME 265 

SONNET — SWAN   POINT   CEMETERY         ....  271 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

SONNET               .            .                         .            .            .            .            .            .  272 

SONNET          .            .            .            .            .            .            .            .            .  273 

SONNET  TO  A  BEREAVED  MOTHER          ....  274 

DEAN  STANLEY            ....         .         .         .         .  275 

THE  ANABASIS        .      .  .     1  .  -  .    .         .         .         .         .  276 

ALUMNUS  AND  ALMA  MATER       .....  280 

ALMA  MATER  IN  TOWN  AGAIN 286 

HAPSBURGH'S  RAMPARTS 290 

WONDER             .                        . 293 

THE   GIANTS   AND    THE    DWARFS              ....  295 

WHERE  ?.........  297 

THE  FIRST  SONG       .        .        ...        .        .  298 

THE  SISTERS  OF  DESTINY 3O2 

THE  SMACK  IN  SCHOOL      .        .        ....  304 

LOVE'S  ATTIC  IDYL       .        .        .        .     -  .        .        .  306 

DAME  SALISBURY'S  PUDDING      .....  308 

THE  ROOTED  SORROW 311 

TO  ESTELLE 313 

SOME  VIEW  THE  WORLD 314 

WHEN  I  WAS  RICH     .......  315 

MY  TAILOR  AND  I  IN  THE  LATE  PANIC  .         .         -317 

SOFT  AND  SOFTER 318 

ALWAYS  CHEERFUL 319 

NUMBER  ONE.    .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  321 

THE  DESTROYER  SUPPLIANT           .....  323 

GIGANTOMACHIA  BALTIMORENSIS       .        .               .  326 


THE   CLERK'S    DREAM. 


|HOU  hast  full  oft  been  called  Death's  brother, 
Sleep  \ 

By  bards  whose  fancy,  as  in  visioned  dream, 
Beheld  a  god  on  every  towering  steep, 

Fauns  in  each  grove  and  nymphs  in  every  stream  ; 
But  unto  me,  true  MOTHER  dost  thou  seem, 

Of  life  and  beauty  most  divinely  fair  ; 
Forever  following  Hesper's  westering  beam 

Along  the  weary  haunts  of  toil  and  care, 

To  shed  celestial  balm  on  all  that  languish  there. 

Yet  souls  there  are  so  avarous  of  time, 

So  sorely  conscious  of  uncultured  powers, 

That,  thankless  for  thy  ministry  sublime, 

They  grudge   the   precious   third  of    life's   brief 
hours 

From  action  lured  to  thy  inglorious  bowers, 
And  lulled  to  soft  perdition,  blind  and  dumb  ! 


2  THE    CLERK'S  DREAM. 

Still  for  their  loss  requital  fair  is  ours — 

Thou  add'st  by  taking  from  the  moiling  sum  ; 
Stealing  the  present  hours  to  lengthen  those   to 
come. 

Ay,  let  us  ever  gratefully  maintain 

That  thou  prolong'st  our  being's  little  span  ; 

Bringing  the  buried  years  to  life  again 

As  fresh  and  fair  as  when  their  lapse  began  ! 

The  snows  of  age  that  bow  the  hoary  man, 
Like  ice-clad  pine  on  hyperborean  shore, 

Melt  at  thy  touch,  and  cheeks  but  now  so  wan, 
Resume  the  vernal  bloom  their  boyhood  wore, 
And  in  the  desert  heart  glad  fountains  leap  once 
more. 

Behold  yon  guilty,  hope-forsaken  one, 

Whose  grave  yawns  darkly  for  its  felon  prey 

Beneath  the  scaffold,  where  to-morrow's  sun 
Shall  see  the  rude  winds  swing  his  lifeless  clay  ! 

Yet  even  his  sharp  pangs  canst  thou  allay, 
O  blessed  Sleep,  with  thy  most  potent  spell  ! 

The  phantom  worm,  the  foresense  of  decay, 
Stern  guard,  and  muffled  drum,  and  dirge,  and  knell 
Evanish,  as  thy  steps  steal  softly  to  his  cell. 

Man  may  up-pile  the  everlasting  rock, 

And  bid  his  fellow  crouch  unpitied  there 
Behind  the  bolted  bars,  whose  closing  shock 


THE   CLERK'S  DREAM.  3 

Shuts  outward  all  but  darkness,  and  despair, 
And  thee,  sweet  mocker  of  the  tyrant's  care  ! 

Who  fold'st  his  victim  to  thy  gentle  breast, 
And  bear'st  him  forth  into  the  wide  free  air 

To  paths  that  climb  the  mountain's  sunny  crest, 

Or   wind    by    fairy    streams   where    night's    soft 
splendors  rest. 

As  them  did'st  steal  my  spirit  forth  yestreen 

From  clerkly  durance  of  the  long,  long  day, 
Where   through   a  rear,   drear    casement's    latticed 
screen 

A  few  shy  beams  of  melancholy  gray 
Peered  in  on  bondman  woe-begone  as  they, 

Bending  in  silent  earnestness  the  while 
O'er  figured  tomes  outspread  in  grim  array, 

From  whose  summed  lore  no  wit  of  man  could 
wile, 

With  Momus*  merry  aid,  the  prestige  of?a  smile. 

Meseemed,  at  last,  the  cycle  of  an  age 

Had  passed  since  morning  reinthralled  me  there  ! 
And  listlessly  upon  the  leaden  page 

My  aching  temple  sank  in  sheer  despair  ; 
When,  haply,  glancing  at  the  casement,  where 

A  spider,  monarch  of  the  broken  pane, 
Spun  round  and  round  on  his  aerial  snare, 

I  blest  the  fates  mine  eyes  had  seen  again 

One   form,  however  mean,  ungalled   by  curb   or 
chain. 


4  THE  CLERK'S  DREAM. 

And  as  the  creature  glided  to  and  fro, 
As  if  to  shame  the  Helot  bonds  I  wore, 

The  sickly  glimmer  grew,  or  seemed  to  grow, 
More  pale  and  rueful  dim  than  yet  before  ; 

While  the  great  city's  jarring  tramp  and  roar 
Of  myriad  hoofs  and  wheels  in  wild  career, 

Vexing  the  rock-ribbed  isle  from  shore  to  shore, 
Receded  gradual  from  my  drowsy  ear, 
And  died  into  the  tone  of   some  far  murmuring 
sphere. 

At  last,  all  consciousness  of  sight,  or  sound, 
Or  aught  that  speaketh  to  the  outwaid  sense 

Of  life  or  form  in  this  material  round, 
Passed  from  my  spirit  utterly — intense 

Oblivion  drowned  all  waking  cognizance, 
Till  Fancy  roused  it  to  the  magic  play 

Of  scenes  wherewith,  in  kindly  recompense, 
She  fills  the  void  of  sleep,  as  night  of  day, 
With  infinite   bright  hosts  where  one  alone   has 
sway. 

Methought  a  sweet  voice  wooed  my  drowsy  ear  : 

"  Tis  time  the  galling  fetter  should  dispart  ! 
Son  of  the  Mountainland  !   what  dost  thou  here, 

Amid  the  painted  pageantries  of  art, 
Where  truth  lies  dead  in  many  a  specious  heart — 
Dead  as  the  smothered  germs  that  never  more 
Shall  clothe  with  vernal  green  yon  trampled  mart, 


THE  CLERK'S  DREAM.  5 

Till  o'er  its  wastes,  as  in  the  days  of  yore, 
The  deer  shall  bound  again  by  Hudson's  ruined 
shore  ? 

"  Art  them  aweary  of  thy  narrow  bound  ? 

And  swells  thy  bosom  oft  with  stifled  moan, 
That  yonder  Sun,  in  all  his  annual  round, 

Brings  not  an  hour  that  them  canst  call  thy  own  ? 
How  few  the  charms  thy  city  life  has  known  ! 

How  cold  the  greetings  of  the  bustling  street  ! 
Ah,  in  the  human  waste  how  vainly  sown 

The  seeds  of  future  joys  or  memories  sweet  ! 

Away  !    and  shake   its   dust   from  thy  indignant 
feet  ! 

"  O,  scorn  to  be  the  slave  of  Mammon's  slave  ! 

Nor  longer  wear  the  miserable  chain 
That  binds  thee  down  in  this  unseemly  cave 

From  morn  till  evening  brings  her  starry  train; 
Recording,  cent,  per  cent.,  the  sordid  gain 

By  keen-eyed  Avarice  in  the  market  made 
Perchance  from  his  best  friend  ;  while  rang  amain 

The  loaded  dice,  and  his  keen  smile  betrayed 

How  true  he  held   the   creed,  that   all  is  fair  in 
trade. 

"Thy  life  has  reached  the  summit  where  the  slopes 

Of  three-score  years  and  ten,  converging,  meet  ; 
The  one,  all  gay  with  youth's  enchanting  hopes, 


0  THE  CLERK'S  DREAM. 

And  rosy  light,  and  myrtle  arbors  sweet ; 
The  other,  opening  to  thy  pilgrim  feet 

A  dreary  waste  of  deepening  shade  and  snow, 
Down  which  the  posting  years,  alas  !  more  fleet 

Than  mountain  torrent  in  its  wildest  flow, 

Shall  sweep  thee  to   the  gulf  that  yawns  for  all 
below  !  " 

Methought,  obedient  to  the  tuneful  spell, 

I  waited  not  the  sibyl's  second  call ; 
Yet,  pausing  at  the  threshold,  sighed,  "  Farewell, 

Farewell,  old  comrades  of  my  twelve  years'  thrall  ! 
Desk,  high  stool,  coffer,  journal,  ledger — all — 

Ay,  even  to  thee,  Dutch  chronicler,  all  face, 
That  from  thy  perch  beside  the  dingy  wall 

Dost  seem  to  censure  time's  impatient  race, 

And   teach   his   flying   feet    the    true    Teutonic 
pace  !  " 

Thus  saying,  down  the  gloomy  stair  I  sped, 
And  up  the  crowded  street  my  footsteps  bent  ; 

The  very  stones  beneath  my  lightsome  tread, 
Seemed  springs  to  dance  me  onward  as  I  went  ! 

No  wild  bird  long  in  wiry  durance  pent, 

No  sylph  in  rayless  dungeon  doomed  to  pine, 

At  last  restored  their  native  element, 

E'er  darted  forth  into  its  shade  or  shine, 
With  such   a  buoyant  joy  as  then  and  there  was 
mine. 


THE  CLERK' S  DREAM.  *J 

Eftsoon  behind  me  sank  the  giant  mart, 

By  distance  changed  to  semblant  ruins  gray  ; 

Unfelt  the  throbbing  of  its  mighty  heart, 

Unheard  the  death-shriek  of  its  last  dismay  : 

Grim,  voiceless,  vast,  the  stricken  monster  lay, 
The  stunned  earth  crushed  beneath  its  Titan  fall, 

Its  stony  ribs  slow  crumbling  to  decay, 
Writing  its  fame  in  dust,  and  over  all 
The  cloud  of  its  last  breath  suspended  like  a  pall. 

But  Nature  rose  before  me  fresh  and  fair, 
Immortal  beauty  mirrored  in  her  mien  ; 

Her  brow  unshadowed  by  a  passing  care, 
Her  bosom  veiled  in  folds  of  purfled  green, 

And  tranced  in  pure  beatitude  serene  ; 

The  very  ground  seemed  holy  where  I  trori, 

As  if  the  trace  of  angels  there  was  seen 

Amid  the  flowers,  that  from  each  dewy  sod 
Looked  up  and  sweetly  blest  the  living  smile  of 
God. 

And  journeying  onward  with  enchanted  sight, 
Erelong  a  wild  and  many-winding  stream 

Came  dancing  foward  with  a  brisk  delight 
Across  the  green  Elysium  of  my  dream  ; 

Now  softly  shimmering  in  the  summer  beam, 
Now  coyly  hiding  where  the  plane-tree  flung 

Its  shadow  down  unflecked  by  golden  gleam  ; 
Yet  ever  singing  light  and  shade  among, 
And  this  the  fairy  strain  its  choral  Naiads  sung : 


THE  CLERK'S  DREAM. 

Prisoned  long  in  caverned  fountains, 

Lost  in  dungeons  ebon,  eerie, 
From  the  wild  New  England  mountains 

We  at  last  have  broke  away  ! 
Ours  are  feet  that  never  weary  — 
See  their  silver  sandals  glancing, 
As  in  moonlit  mazes  dancing, 

Trip  we  onward  night  and  day  ! 

Man,  who  minds  not  alien  pleasures, 

Of  his  own  forever  dreaming, 
Oft  hath  sought  to  curb  our  measures 

In  the  windings  of  the  hills  ; 
But  while  smiling  at  his  scheming, 
Cheerfully  in  glens  and  gorges 
We  have  wrought  his  sounding  forges, 

Whirled  his  spindles  and  his  mills. 

Nature's  myriad  forms  are  proving 

That  no  thing  was  made  to  slumber  ; 
All  in  endless  cycle  moving 

As  the  Mightiest  has  ordained  ; 
Hosts,  archangel  cannot  number, 
Walk  yon  skies  with  harps  of  gladness  ; 
Why  should  ours,  then,  sleep  in  sadness  ? 

Why  our  flashing  limbs  be  chained  ? 

Onward  !  then,  o'er  foamy  ledges, 

On  !  through  groves  of  mirrored  beeches 


THE  CLERK'S  DREAM.  $ 

Linger  not  to  kiss  the  sedges 

Waving  in  the  scented  gale  ! 
Round  the  headlands,  down  the  reaches, 

D,ance  we  on  with  murmuring  motion  ! 

Hark  !  we  hear  thee,  parent  Ocean, 
And  rejoicing  bid  thee  hail ! 

Yet  not  long  thy  ravished  minions 

Can  be  rescued  from  the  fountains, 
Whither  far  on  misty  pinions 

Winds  that  prowl  thy  stormy  shore, 
Waft  us  to  the  cloud-nursed  mountains  ; 
But,  escaped  their  wildwood  mazes, 
We  shall  speed  to  thy  embraces, 

As  ten  thousand  times  before  ! 

Three  days,  methought,  toward  my  distant  home, 
Three  nights,  like  days  of  more  enchanting  beam, 

With  heart  as  lightsome  as  its  buoyant  foam, 
I  followed  up  the  many-winding  stream 

That  o'er  the  green  Elysium  of  my  dream 
Came  singing  onward  like  a  pilgrim  gay, 

Who  sees,  at  last,  the  sacred  turrets  gleam 
O'er  Zion's  hills  or  Mecca's  deserts  gray, 
For  which  his  heart  has  yearned  for  many  a  weary 
day. 

Oft  drawn  aside,  as  by  a  magic  chord, 

Where  green  nooks  slept  beneath  their  own  green 

sky, 


10  THE  CLERK'S  DREAM. 

I  sat  me  down  upon  the  margent  sward 

And  watched  the  laughing  waves  with  pensive  eye; 

And,  haply,  if  a  flower  came  dancing  by, 
I  felt  my  heart  with  sudden  joy  expand, 

And  breathed  a  silent  benison  on  high, 
For  that  fair  token  from  my  native  land, 
Perchance  that  very  morn  pressed  by  some  kin 
dred  hand  ! 

Perhaps  my  mother's  !  ah,  what  weary  years 

Had  passed  away  since  that  had  pressed  my  own  ! 

How  many  hopes  all  drowned  in  bitter  tears, 
Like  yon  bright  waif  upon  the  waters  thrown, 

Had  down  life's  swifter  stream  forever  flown, 
Since  that  dear  hand  upon  the  parting  hill 

So  clung  to  mine,  as  palm  to  palm  had  grown  ! 
And  even  now  through  all  time's  change  and  chill, 
I  feel  its  lingering  clasp,  its  fervid  pressure  still ! 

O  when  the  bloom  of  youth's  gay  summer  fades, 

Its  zephyrs  hushed,  its  music  heard  no  more  ! 
When  age  goes  tottering  tow'rd  the  wintry  shades, 

That  dark  and  darker  wrap  the  waste  before  ! 
Dear  Memory  !  then  thy  magic  charms  restore 

The  flowers  that  perished  in  the  ruthless  blast, 
The  birds  that  sang,  the  friends  that  smiled   of  yore, 

The    scents,    the  sunshine  round   our  childhood 
cast — 

Yea  throng  with  Pleiads  lost  the  midnight  of  the 
past. 


THE  CLERK'S  DREAM.  I  I 

/ 

In  vain  \ve  seek  the  future  to  forestall, 
In  vain  we  thunder  at  its  iron  gate  ; 
No  warder  answers  to  our  yearning  call, 

No  Sybil  turns  for  us  the  wards  of  fate  ! 
A  voice  from  out  the  silence  bids  us  wait. 

And  time  full  soon  will  ope  the  spectral  hall  ; 
Yet  gazing  through  the  gloom  with  eye  dilate, 
We  see  inscribed  upon  the  awful  wall : 
"  Behold  the  end  of  earth,  the  last   sure  home  of 
all !  " 

Then  let  us  seek  not  with  delusive  hope 
The  future's  starless  horoscope  to  cast, 

While  lorn  and  lost  amid  the  gloom  we  grope, 
Like  dust  of  diamonds  scattered  to  the  blast, 

Time's  precious  gems  flash  onward  to  the  past — 
Ere  we  can  call  them    ours,  fled  evermore  ! 

Each  fleeting  jewel  fleeter  than  the  last ; 

But  thou,  fond  Memory,  canst  the  loss  restore 
Of  such   as  to  thy  shrine  kind  deed  or  purpose 
bore  ! 

Yet  never  long  might  these  soft  pensive  shades 
Beside  the  murmuring  stream  my  steps  delay  ; 

But  stealing  back  to  the  forsaken  glades, 

With  quickened  foot  and  pulse  of  brisker  play, 

Toward  the  Mountainland  I  went  my  way, 
Still  tracing  up  the  river's  silvery  line ; 


12  THE  CLERK'S  DREAM. 

And  ne'er  did  wild  bird  in  the  flush  of  May 
Behold  his  native  groves  with  brighter  eyne 
Or  make  their  echoes  dance  with  lays  more 
than  mine. 

For  now  familiar  forms  began  to  smile 
On  every  side,  as  w,th  a  fond  surprise, 

In  one  who  piped  so  merrily  the  while 

A  long-lost,  grateful  friend  to  recognise  ; 
The    se«    Blowers   that  charmed  my  ch.ld.sh 

The  Selfsame  birds  that  haunted  grove  and  glen, 
The  same  bright  clouds  that  draped  life  s 

The  tmt  proud  peaks  that  were  their  ramparts 

All  theTe'Tn  summer's  prime  were  mine,  all  mine 

again  ! 

As  thus  along  the  vista  of  my  dream 

My  careless  steps  their  pilgrimage  pursued, 
Metnought,  far  straying  from  the  friendly  stream, 

I  came  at  last  upon  a  terraced  wood- 
A  steep,  wild,  labyrinthine  solitude, 

That  seemed  all  farther  daring  to  c 
And  as  in  deep  perplexity  I  stood, 

Far  up  a  cascade  flashed  upon  my  eye, 

And  waved  its  snowy  plume  from  out  the  very  sky. 


THE  CLERK'S  DREAM.  13 

Well  pleased  the  kindly  summons  I  obey, 

And  smile  defiance  at  the  frowning  steep  ; 
Now  up  the  crag  I  climb  my  clinging  way, 

Now    through    dim    coombs    of    matted    laurels 

creep, 
Anon  o'er  yawning  chasms  fearless  leap, 

By  wild  vine  pendent  in  the  startled  air  ; 
Oft  from  my  foot  the  loosened  boulders  sweep 

With  smoking  crash  from  shivered  stair  to  stair  ; 

Yet  still  toward  the  clouds  with  dauntless  aim  I 
fare  ; 

Nor  pause  to  mark  the  upward  distance  gained, 
Or  how  the  landscape  broadened  to  the  sight, 

Till  o'er  the  last  grim  battlement  I  strained, 
And  stood  triumphant  on  the  topmost  height. 

And  well,  O  Nature  !  did  thy  charms  requite 
The  toil  that  won  me  thy  aerial  throne  ; 

Whence,  far  around,  in  summer's  fairest  light 
A  green  and  glorious  panorama  shone, 
With  all  the  tenderest  hues  to  Memory's  pencil 
known. 

For  not  a  form  o'er  all  that  living  chart 
So  wide  unfolded  to  my  raptured  gaze, 

But  had  its  perfect  image  in  my  heart, 

Daguerreotyped  in  boyhood's  punny  days, 

Ere  care's  stern  frown,  or  sorrow's  deepening  haze 
Had  dimmed  the  glow  of  hope's  celestial  beam  ; 


14  THE  CLERK'S  DREAM. 

Blindfold  I  could  have  thrid  each  silvan  maze, 
Traced  every  wayward  path  and  winding  stream 
To    shades    where  highest  noon  scarce  wakes  the 
owlet's  dream. 

All  hail,  I  fondly  cried,  dear  native  land  ! 

Ye  peaks  that,  frowning  from  your  kingly  seat, 
Do  bid  the  tempest's  sounding  legions  stand, 
And  furl  their  cloudy  banners  at  your  feet  ; 
Ye     groves,     where     summer's     gayest     minstrels 

meet 

And  charm  the  echoes  with  love's  fondest  tale  ; 
Ye  hills,  where  flocks  securely  browse  and  bleat, 
Ye   brooks,   soft  murmuring  through   the  herded 

vale, 

Blue  lakes,  and  golden  fields,  and  peaceful  ham 
lets,  hail ! 

O  Freedom  !  if  oppresion's  myrmidons, 

In  after  years,  should  forge  for  thee  the  chain, 
And,  o'er  the  bodies  of  thy  lowland  sons, 

Hunt  thee    from    forth    the    strongholds    of    the 

plain, 
Here  shalt  thou  find  thy  sure  and  fast  domain, 

Each  crag  a  tower  alive  with  glaive  and  gun, 
And  bosoms  fired  to  teach  thy  foes  again 

What  valor  ripens  in  the  genial  sun 

That   smiles   on   Berkshire's  hills  and  thine,  fair 
Bennington  ? 


THE  CLERK'S  DREAM.  I  5 

No  tyrant's  foot  shall  ever  shame  the  soil 

Embattled  round  with  freedom's  mountain  frieze, 
And  hearts  whose  pastime  is  the  time  of  toil, 

Whose  sorest  penance-hour  the  hour  of  ease  : 
The  willow  bendeth  to  the  passing  breeze, 

In  meek  submission  to  its  lowly  end  ; 
While  stands  the  oak    with    gnarled  and  stubborn 
knees, 

His  flag  aloft  howe'er  the  tempest  rend  ; 

And   they  who   share  his  hills,   oak-hearted,  bow 
nor  bend  ! 

What  though  the  genius  of  these  later  days, 
With  Science'  grander  lens  and  keener  light, 

Has  touched  Olympus  with  its  searching  rays, 
And  shrunk  its  ancient  deities  from  sight  ; 

Still  doth  their  spirit  haunt  each  kindred  height, 
Shout  in  the  whirlwind,  dart  the  lightning's  spear — 

'Tis  that  which  plumes  the  eagle's  sunward  flight ; 
'Tis  that  which  whispers  to  the  mountaineer  : 
"  Are  not  these    rugged    wilds  than  tropic  vales 
more  dear  ?  " 

To  me,  more  dear  than  all  the  world  beside, 
Uprose  again  that  long-lost  silvan  scene, 

Surge  over  surge  uplifted  wild  and  wide — 
A  billowy  ocean,  motionless,  serene, 

With  green  abysses  winding  all  between  ; 

While  fleets  of  gorgeous  clouds  went  sailing  slow, 


1 6  THE   CLERK'S  DREAM. 

As  loth  to  leave  so  fair  a  sea,  I  ween  ; 

Trailing  their  shadows  o'er  the  amber  glow, 
That  clothed  with  heaven's  own  smile  the  bound 
less  swells  below. 

But  lo  !  what  form  of  fascinating  power 
Amid  the  wonders  of  my  dream  appears  ? 

What  dear  enchantress  in  yon  leafy  bower 
So  fondly  dims  my  eyes  with  happy  tears  ? 

Home  of  my  chidhood's  all  too  fleeting  years  ! 
Do  I  indeed  behold  thee  once  again  ? 

O  smile  away  thy  truant's  boding  fears 
That  thou,  and  all  this  fairy-like  domain, 
Are  but  a  trick  of  sleep — a  mockery  of  the  brain  ! 

Nay,  I  will  have  you  real,  here  and  now, 

All  forms  on  which  these  swimming  eyes  are  bent  ! 

Thou  art  Taconic  of  the  cloud-crowned  brow, 
And  thou,  the  Mountain  of  the  Monument, 

Cloven  in  twain,  and  one-half  headlong  sent 

Adown  the  vale  whence  erst  its  grandeur  clomb  ; 

And  Greylock  thou,  that  like  archangel's  tent 

Purplest  the  northward  sky  with  thy  great  dome — 
I  know  ye,  each  and  all,  and  feel  that  this  is  home  ! 

Old  friends  !  the  love  that  greets  you  is  unchanged, 
As  ye  who  smile  to  welcome  me  again  ; 

Long   years   have    passed    since    boyhood    blithely 

ranged 
Your  realm  from  peak  to  peak,  from  glen  to  glen  : 


THE   CLERK'S  DREAM.  \J 

Far  hence  my  bark  amid  the  tides  of  men 
Has  drifted  helpless,  compassless,  and  frail, 

The  sport  of  chance  ;  yet  felt  I  even  then, 

When  skies  were  darkest,  most  adverse  the  gale, 
That  here  benignant  fate  would  furl  its  weary  sail. 

Ye  were  the  last  to  linger  on  my  gaze, 

When  fortune  lured  my  thoughtless  youth  astray  ; 
As  now  the  first  your  beacon  brows  to  raise 

Far  off  amid  the  azure  cope  of  day, 
To     guide     and  cheer    the   wanderer's    homeward 
way  ; 

And  though  with  bending  form  and  visage  wan, 
And  brown  locks  thickly  shot  with  early  gray, 

He  turns  to  where  his  blithesome  steps  began, 

The  boy's  true,  loving  heart  still  nerves  the  way 
worn  man. 


The  light  reflected  from  thy  glorious  brow, 
Imperial  Greylock  !   o'er  a  thousand  hills, 

Steals  with  a  softer  splendor  on  me  now, 

With  tenderer  warmth  my  languid  bosom  thrills, 

Than  when  attracted  by  the  fame  that  fills 

Far-listening  vales,  a  wondering  youth  I  came, 

And  at  the  feet  of  thy  Gamaliels 

Sat  lowly  down,  with  that  becoming  shame 
Such   presence   needs    must  wake    to    sense    of 
noblest  aim. 


1 8  THE  CLERK'S  DREAM. 

O  happy  fate  that  led  me  to  thy  shrine, 
Dear  Alma  Mater  of  the  fond  caress  ! 

How  like  a  brimming  chalice  of  glad  wine 
My  heart  ran  over  with  the  bright  excess 

Of  wondrous,  inexpressive  joyousness, 
As  knowledge  opened  to  my  eager  eyes 

Her  priceless  record  of  all  sciences 

Wrung  from  the  mystic  earth,  the  blazoned  skies, 
And  that  sublimer  realm  within  the  Soul  that  lies. 

0  studious  days  !  so  cloudless  and  serene, 
Elysium's  very  skies  seemed  bending  o'er 

A  vale  of  earth,  reflected  in  the  sheen, 

Its  purple  peaks  and  gorgeous  sunsets  wore  ; 

And  fairer  yet,  in  eyes  that  evermore 

Grew  brighter,  watching  at  the  Muses'  shrine, 

Amid  the  starry  beams  of  ancient  lore  ; 

Till  o'er  the  mortal  face  whereon  they  shine, 
Veiling  its  clay,  there  steals  an  effluence  divine  ! 

Yet,  Nature,  glorious  as  thy  presence  is 

Amid  these  sunward  peaks  and  dim  defiles, 

1  must  not  let  these  wakened  memories 

Enchant  me  longer  with  their  witching  wiles  ; 
For  lo  !  still  gleaming  from  your  silvan  aisles, 

My  gaze  once  more  a  dearer  presence  sees — 
Thine,  thine,  sweet  home  !  whose  benison  of  smiles 

Falls  on  my  soul  from  those  ancestral  trees, 

Whose  green  arms   all  the  while  wave  welcomes 
on  the  breeze. 


THE  CLERK'S  DREAM.  19 

And  who  shall  tell  the  joys  for  me  in  store, 

Though  every  Muse  should  smile  upon  his  strain, 

When,  lightly  stealing  through  yon  cottage  door, 
I  stand  upon  its  sacred  hearth  again  ? 

What  arms  shall  clasp  me  in  their  loving  chain  ? 
What  sweet  lips,  fondly  vicing  with  my  own, 

Shall  shower  their  kisses  warm  as  summer  rain  ? 
What  hours  of  soul-felt  gladness  shall  atone 
For  all  the    aching  years    to   hopeless    absence 
known  ? 

Swift  as  a  page  on  blithesome  mission  sent, 

Away  I  darted  down  a  near  ravine  ; 
And  soon  the  Mountain  of  the  Monument, 

Whence  I  had  gazed  upon  that  lovely  scene, 
Towered  far  behind  me  in  the  blue  serene  ; 

Yet  paused  I  never  in  my  wild  career 
O'er  sunny  hills  and  murmuring  valleys  green, 

Till  once  again  upon  my  raptured  ear 

The  sounds  of  home  rose  sweet  as  angel  voices 
near. 

But  ah  !  how  cold  are  fancy's  warmest  dyes 

To  paint  the  scene  where  absent  hours  expire  ! 
The  tears  that  tremble  in  the  mother's  eyes 

All  lighted  up  with  love's  divinest  fire  ; 
The  calmer  gladness  of  the  hoary  sire, 

Erect  for  all  his  threescore  years  and  ten  ; 
The  sister's  irrepressible  desire         • 

To  cling  within  your  circling  arms,  and  then 


20  THE  CLERK'S  DREAM. 

The  brother's  cordial  grasp,  and  welcome  home 
again  ! 

Oh,  home  !  where  gleams  of  Eden  still  attest 
How  bright  and  fair  was  love's  primeval  shrine  ; 

Such  were  the  fond  illusions  that  possest, 

At  that  glad  hour,  my  dream  of  thee  and  thine  ; 

Each  eye  that  turned  so  yearningly  from  mine 
To  look  its  silent  benison  above, 

Each  faltering  voice  of  tenderness  divine, 

Each  tear,  smile,  kiss, — how  tenderly  they  prove 
That  paradise  unlost,  where  love  responds  to  love. 

Then  spake  my  mother  with  sweet-chiding  sighs  : 
"  Twelve  years  away  !  indeed  it  was  not  fair 

To  leave  so  long  before  our  longing  eyes 
The  painful  presence  of  your  vacant  chair  ! 

Vacant  ?  Oh,  no  ;  the  phantom  of  despair 
Usurped  it  oft,  and  gloomed  on  all  around  !  " 

"But,"  smiled  my  father,  "now  that  he  is  there 
Once  more  in  his  old  place,  let  joy  abound — 
The    longer   lost    to    hope,    the    welcomer    when 
found  !  " 

"Yes,"  smiled  my  sister,  "  but  the  stray-away 

Must  promise  ne'er  to  part  love's  golden  chain — 

Nay,  almost  swear,  that  from  this  blessed  day 
He  will  not  leave  us,  even  in  dreams  again  !  " 

"  Thy  cheek  for  Book  !  "  I  smiled—"  Yet  oaths  are 

vain,       . 
Dearest  ;  for,  sooth,  my  wanderings  are  all  o'er  ! — 


- 


THE  CLERK'S  DREAM.  21 

Ah,  be  assured,  the  lessons  learned  of  pain 
Are  wisdom's  oracles  for  evermore  ! 
I  could  not,  if  I  would,  forget  their  warning  lore  ; 

"  Forget  that  yonder  world,  so  brave  and  gay, 
To  whose  bright  scenes  my  dazzled  steps  I  bent, 

With  all  its  promised  joys  can  ne'er  repay 
The  loss  of  one  sweet  hour  of  home-content  : 

Ay,  gilded  world,  the  vail  at  last  is  rent, 

That  masked  thy  haggard  face  and  maniac  mirth  ! 

Henceforth  my  wiser  years  shall  all  be  spent 
Here  where  life's  morning  memories  had  birth 
Amid  the  dews  of  love  and  sunshine  of  the  hearth. 

"  Forgive  the  past,  dear  friends  !  its  hopes  and  fears 
Awake  no  more  to  sadden  or  deceive  ; 

Here  shall  the  conscience  of  those  wiser  years 
Fondly  essay  past  errors  to  retrieve. 

Need  I  be  sworn  no  more  your  hearts  to  grieve 
By  absence  ?  " — "  Nay,"  my  sister  smiled,  "  'twere 
vain  ; 

For,  truant,  know  we  mean  henceforth  to  weave 
Around  your  roving  thoughts  so  fast  a  chain, 
You  could  not,  if  you  would,  break  from  its  clasp 
again  !  " 

Conversed  we  thus,  till  midnight's  brooding  calm 
Around  the  vale  its  starry  silence  shed  ; 

Then,  Oh,  how  sweetly  rose  the  household  psalm  ! 
How  tenderly  the  household  prayer  was  read  ! 


22  THE  CLERK'S  DREAM. 

Good  night  and  happy  dreams,  how  fondly  said  ! 
As  turning  from  the  hearthstone's  dying  gleams, 

Each  to  his  waiting  couch  delighted  sped  ; 
Yet  scarce  to  slumber  for  the  haunting  themes 
That  charmed  our  waking  thoughts  like  spell  of 
happiest  dreams  ! 

Beneath  my  childhood's  roof  again  I  lay, 

In  that  dear  chamber,  lapped  in  peace  profound  ; 

No  change  had  passed  its  threshold  since  the  day 
I  broke  away  from  its  enchanted  bound  ; 

The  old  familiar  forms  were  all  around, 

And  each  its  own  sweet  charm  of  memory  wore  ; 

And  still  the  sweeter  for  the  rustling  sound 

Of  boughs  that  kissed  my  casement  o'er  and  o'er — 
How  light  their  shadows  danced  upon  the  moon 
lit  floor ! 

Here  was  my  favorite  haunt  in  days  whilom, 
To  list  the  strains  of  Hellas'  magic  lyre, 

Or  hear  its  echoes  in  the  harps  of  Rome 

Restored  with  scarcely  less  enchanting  wire  ; 

Here  had  I  first  heard  Dante's  words  of  fire, 

And  Schiller's  wild  and  Goethe's  wondrous  shell ; 

Here,  too,  had  England's  many-voiced  choir, 
All  others  drowning  in  its  matchless  swell, 
First  taught  my  soul  how  vast  the  minstrel's  scope 
and  spell. 


THE  CLERK'S  DREAM.  2$ 

As  thus,  methought,  withdrawn  from  waking  ills, 
Though  still  awake,  in  that  sweet  trance  I  lay, 

Morn  swiftly  rounded  to  her  orient  hills, 

And  sowed  them  broadcast  with  the  gems  of  day  ; 

Nor  long  they  shone  in  garniture  so  gay, 

Ere  I  was  bounding  through  their  fragrant  bowers, 

Or  down  their  dells,  or  o'er  their  lawns  astray — 
What  mattered  whither  led  the  dancing  hours, 
Where  every  footfall  lit  on  memory's  clustering 
flowers  ? 

This  lake  that  mirrors  half  a  league  of  sky, 
Was  boyhood's  ocean,  where,  in  truant  bliss 

Oblivious,  my  merry  mates  and  I 

Were  wont  to  launch  our  span-long  argosies, 

Thread-rigged,  and  freighted  with  fair  venturies 
Of  shining  shells  or  blossoms  from  the  lea  ; 

Yet  who  so  bold  to  say  that  he  or  his, 
Who  bore  the  golden  fleece  to  Argolie, 
Was  half  so  proud  of  craft  or  blithe  of  heart  as  we  ? 


And  hither,  when  its  azure  light  was  dead, 
Its  dimples  fast  in  winter's  icy  seal, 

Aross  the  snowy  fields  we  gaily  sped 

To  whirl  and  gambol  on  the  giddy  steel, 

That  gives  to  boyhood's  bounding  heart  to  feel 
The  joy  that  danceth  in  the  eagle's  wing  ; 

And,  when,  at  times,  the  ice-rift's  sudden  peal 


24  THE  CLERK'S  DREAM. 

To  shoreward  thundered  from  our  sidelong  swing, 
With  what  a  shout  we  made  the  upland  hollows 
ring  ! 

In  autumn's  sunny  days,  on  yonder  hill 

We  shared  the  old  bee-hunter's  pleasant  care  ; 

And  when  his  murmuring  guest  had  sipped  his  fill, 
And  swift  upwheeling  from  the  fragrant  snare 

Glanced  hiveward,    straight  as   arrow    cleaves  the 

air, 
How  oft,  forth  darting  with  impetuous  bound, 

We  chased  the  laden  plunderer  to  his  lair, 
And  made  the  -distant  woods  reecho  round  : 
"  Ho  !    for    the    silvan    mine,  the   sweet   Dorado 
found  !  " 

And  lo  !  the  stream  that  with  such  wayward  grace 
Goes  winding  o'er  yon  valley's  flowery  breast, 

As  if  it  could  not  leave  so  dear  a  place, 
But  ever  wander  there,  a  charmed  guest  ; 

Can  I  forget  the  pride  my  looks  confest 
When  first  I  swam  its  widest  channel  o'er  ? 

Or  that  glad  hour  of  all  my  hours  most  blest, 
When  from  its  swirling  vehemence  I  bore 
The  widow's  drowning  son  in  safety  to  the  shore  ? 

And  now  I  wander  to  the  maple  grove, 
That  gayest  scene  of  all  the  vernal  year — 

O  what  delight  was  mine  again  to  rove 

Amid  the  silvan  charms  that  clustered  here  ! 


THE  CLERK'S  DREAM,  2$ 

The  mossy  troughs  o'erbrimming,  far  and  near, 

With  sweetest  nectar  of  the  Dryades  ; 
The    groaning    sled,     urged    on    with    shout   and 

cheer, 

Toward  the  steaming  lodge,  that  filled  the  breeze 
With  clouds  upcurling  white  among  the  budding 
trees. 

Such  merry  groups  as  wont  to  gather  there 

From  all  the  hills  when  jocund  evening  came  ! 

Ah  me  !  the  cards  flew  briskly  in  the  glare 
Of  cauldrons  kirtled  deep  with  ruddy  flame  : 

No  moping  whist,  but  high-low-jack  the  game, 
Nothing  the  stake,  and  no  wise  Hoyle  to  thrall ; 

Victor  or  vanquished,  it  was  all  the  same  ; 

Nor  mattered  it  to  whom  the  deal  might  fall — 
The    deftest    rogue    always     shuffled,    cut,    dealt 
for  all. 

And  now  the  old  red  school-house  rose  to  view, 
Where  three  lanes  wandered  to  its  green  domain  ; 

And  O  what  dear  associations  drew 

My  footsteps  thither  o'er  the  silent  plain  ! 

Then,  then  indeed,  I  was  a  boy  again, 
As,  seated  at  my  desk,  I  gazed  about 

On  ink-bespattered  wall  and  shattered  pane, 
And  heard,  in  fancy,  that  uproarious  shout 
Which   shook  down  showers   of  caps,   "  Hurrah, 
bovs,  school  is  out  1  " 


26  THE  CLERK'S  DREAM. 

But  let  me  ever  shun  thy  hateful  banks, 

Thou  Brook,  that  babblest  through  the  neighbor 
ing  glade  ! 

By  me  small  meed  of  tuneful  praise  or  thanks 
To  thy  officious  largess  shall  be  paid  : 

Alas  !  how  oft,  forlorn  and  sore  afraid, 

From  some  mad  prank  of  boyhood's  wild  heyday, 

Have  I  been  sent  to  thy  remorseless  shade 
For  store  of  crimson  osiers,  whose  smart  play 
Should    leave  my  tingling  limbs  as  rubicund  as 
they  ! 

Nor  far  remote,  behold  !  the  village  spire, 
Uptapering  white  in  morning's  rosy  sheen, 

Invites  me  on,  and  wings  the  fond  desire 

To  muse  once  more  in  memory's  holiest  scene  ; 

And  soon,  where  over  mounds  of  deepest  green 
The  sweet  acacia's  snowy  blooms  are  shed, 

I  wander,  lost  in  pensive  thought  serene  ; 

Stealing  from  tomb  to  tomb  with  silent  tread 
Along  thy  voiceless  streets,  pale  City  of  the  Dead  ! 


And  well  may  he  who  visits  thy  sad  halls 
Move  softly,  as  with  reverential  fears  ; 

Where  at  each  turn  some  graven  name  recalls 
The  lost  companion  of  his  joyous  years  ; 

Where  every  turf  the  dew  of  loving  tears 

Has  hallowed,  even  though  it  fold  the  unjust  ; 

Where  every  flower,   its  sacred  form  that  rears 


THE  CLERK'S  DREAM.  2J 

To  win  and  seal  affection's  trembling  trust 
With  its   sweet-messaged  lips,  is  born   of  human 
dust  ! 

For  lo  !  these  precincts  have  been  hallowed  ground, 
The  bourne  of  life,  for  centuries  untold  : 

Hither  from  all  the  forest  wilds  around, 

The  red  men  came  and  scooped  the  yellow  mould, 

And  laid  therein  the  brave  and  sachem  bold, 

Whom   death  had   summoned   from  their   scarry 
band, 

WTith  war-club  grasped  by  fingers  stark  and  cold, 
And  bow,  and  shaft,  and  tomahawk  at  hand, 
Wherewith  their  parted  shades  might  roam  the 
spirit-land. 

Ay,  and  two  hundred  years  their  flight  have   sped, 

Since  they  who  wandered  from  the  eastern  seas 
Inland  to  this  far  vale,  have  laid  their  dead 

To  slumber  'neath  these  venerable  trees, 
Where  sleep  the  dark  woods'  red  autochthones, 

In  blest  oblivion  of  the  restless  race 
Whose    voice    has    swept    their    echoes    from    the 
breeze — 

Whose  graves   will  soon  their  mouldering  bones 
displace, 

Nor  leave  of  them  and  theirs  a  record  or  a  trace  ! 

Even  now,  where'er  amid  these  leafy  glooms 
From  side  to  side  my  lingering  gaze  I  turn, 


28  THE    CLERK'S  DREAM. 

Each  verdant  walk  is  white  with  marble  tombs 
Adorned  with  tablet,  cross,  or  sculptured  urn, 

Where  all,  who  will,  the  name  and  fame  may  learn 
Of  those  who  sleep  the  dreamless  sleep  below — 

The  loved  and  lost,  for  whom  the  hamlets  yearn, 
Yet  not  as  those,  whose  tears  of  anguish  flow 
From  eyes  that  see  no  light,  in   blind  and  hope 
less  woe. 

Ah,  no  !  not  such  were  wont  to  be  the  tears 

By  Edwards'  followers  o'er  their  lost  ones  shed  ; 

Nor  theirs,  whom  Edwards'   friend  for  sixty   years 
Toward  the-  land,  of  silence  gently  led  ; 

And  fed  their  souls  with  everlasting  bread, 
Which  whoso  eats,  shall  never  hunger  more  ; 

And  taught  the  mourner,  blessed  are  the  dead 
Who  die  in  Christ,  for,  toil  and  travail  o'er, 
Their  works  do   follow  them  to  glory's  peaceful 
shore ! 

Whither  thou  wentest  in  thy  prime  of  years, 
Dear  Isabelle  !  whose  grave  is  at  my  side — 

Hope  was  indeed  the  Iris  of  our  tears, 

For  well  we  deemed  no  sorrow  could  betide 

A  soul  so  near  to  seraph  ones  allied — 

To  whom  so  much  of  beauty  had  been  given, 

That,  had  some  far-returning  angel  spied 

Thy  kindred  form  here  gliding,  morn  or  even, 
He  could  not  choose  but  ask  :  "  Sister,  what  news 
from  heaven  ? " 


THE  CLERK'S  DREAM.  29 

As  thus  involved  in  fancy's  charmed  maze, 

Through  dreamland's  bright  Elysium  I   strayed, 

And  heard  the  voices  dear  of  early  days, 

And    mused    by    lake    and    stream,    by  hill  and 
glade — 

Wherever  boyhood  mid  the  flowers  had  made, 
Of  old,  a  haunt  unclouded  by  a  care — 

Sudden,  methought,  my  pensive  steps  were   stayed, 
As  pealed  a  knell  upon  the  startled  air, 
And.  springing  to   my   feet,   I   woke,  and  found 
me — where  ? 

Alas  !  not  pacing  o'er  my  native  hills, 
Beneath  the  glories  of  the  new-born  day  ; 

Nor    where     the     wanderer's    heart    with    rapture 

thrills 
To  see  the  smiles  of  home  around  him  play — 

Ah,  no  !  that  vanished  home  was  far  away 

O'er  many  an  azure  league  of  mount  and  plain  ! 

In  spirit  only  had  I  been  astray  ; 

And  thus  recalled  from  slumber's  visioned  reign, 
I    woke,    alas  !    the    slave    of    Mammon's    slave 
again. 

Around,  instead  of  morning's  rosy  sheen, 

The  shadows  fell  of  night's  descending  pall  ; 

There  was  the  drear  rear  casement's  latticed-screen, 
And    there    the    comrades    of  my    twelve    years' 
thrall— 


30  THE  CLERK'S  DREAM. 

Desk,  high  stool,  coffer,  journal,  ledger — all  !— 
Yet  ah  !  how  oft  my  bosom  shall  expand 

With  joy,  O  gracious  Sleep  !  as  I  recall 

The    hours    when    thou    didst    take    me    by    the 

hand 
And  lead  my  spirit  back  unto  the  Mountainland  ! 

Therefore,  Enchantress  dear,  will  I  maintain 

That  thou    dost    broaden,    brighten   life's    brief 
span, 

Bringing  the  buried  years  to  light  again 

As  fresh  and  fair  as  when  their  course  began  ! 

Thou  mak'st  the  man  a  child,  the  child  a  man  ; 
Crownest  the  beggar,  strik'st  the  king  aghast  ; 

Unstayed  by  time  and  space,  by  bond  or  ban, 
Thou  dost  the  future's  mysteries  forecast, 
And  light  with  all  its  stars  the  midnight  of  the 
past  ! 


PASS  ON,  RELENTLESS  WORLD. 

O  World  !  World  !  World  ! 

—Shak, 

[ASS  on,  relentless  world  ! 

With  all  thy  gairish  pageantry  and  noise, 
Pennon,  and  plume,  and  oriflamme  unfurled — 

I  envy  not  thy  toys  ; 
For  thoughts  that  sting  the  brain, 

On  that  dark  brow  are  registered  in  guilt ; 
And  thy  poor  heart  is  wrung  with  many  a  pain, 
Smile,  maniac,  as  them  wilt. 

Thou  of  the  eagle  eye, 

In  the  red  chariot  of  conquest  drawn  ; 
Cursed  by  the  widow's  and  the  orphan's  sigh, 

Pass  in  thy  triumph  on  ! 
Yet  know,  in  this  proud  day 

Of  exaltation  and  of  victory, 
There  be,  who,  sighing,  mark  thy  grand  array, 

And,  shuddering,  shrink  from  thee. 

Thou  who,  though  woman-born, 

Art  mortals'  crowned  or  mitred  deity  ; 
31 


32  PASS  ON,  RELENTLESS  WORLD. 

Pass  on  !  I  shrink  not  from  thy  glance  of  scorn, 

Nor  bend  the  abject  knee  ; 
For  though  the  Tyrian  robe 

Wrap  thee  in  hues  as  bright  as  Eden's  sky, 
And  thy  dread  sceptre  awe  the  subject  globe, 

Death  will  not  pass  thee  by. 

Fairest  and  frailest  flower, 

Beauty  !  that  joyest  in  thy  heavenly  birth, 
Ruling  all  spirits  with  a  witching  power, 

Pass  on,  proud  queen  of  earth  ! 
Yet  at  no  far  off  day, 

Shall  fade  the  glory  of  that  angel  form  ; 
And  near  the  bravery  of  its  pampered  clay, 

Shall  lurk  the  darkling  worm. 

And  thou,  whose  iron  door 

Was  never  opened  to  the  sufferer's  cry  ; 
Whose  stride  to  wealth  was  o'er  the  friendless  poor, 

Unstayed  by  misery's  sigh  ; 
With  all  thy  millions  speed, 

Insatiate,  reckless  of  the  trampled  throng — 
Justice  hath  yet  in  store  the  righteous  meed 

Of  thy  inhuman  wrong  ! 

Traitor  to  friendship's  trust, 

Who,  fawning,  smil'dst  through  fortune's  sunny 

day, 
But  when  thy  dupe  was  stricken  to  the  dust, 

Turn'dst  from  his  woes  away — 


PASS  ON,  RELENTLESS  WORLD.  33 

Pass  on,  dishonored  one  ! 

Thy  deepening  shame,  thy  baseness  go  with  thee— 
There  are  dark  spots  upon  the  glorious  sun  ; 

Could  earth,  then,  be  more  free  ? 

And  thou,  whose  every  thought 

Conspired  the  ruin  of  creation's  pride, 
Woman,  for  whom  the  demigods  have  fought, 

And  Adam's  noblest  died — 
Who,  when  her  love  was  won, 

Didst  spurn  it  for  the  wanton  and  the  wine — 
Pass  on  !   I  may  not  speak  thy  malison, 

For  vengeance  is  not  mine. 

Butjy<?,  to  whom  remain 

Unsullied  honor  and  unswerving  truth  ; 
Faith  that  our  fallen  race  may  yet  regain 

The  Eden  of  its  youth — 
Whose  love  for  human  kind 

Is  ever  active,  patient  and  serene  ; 
Whose  charities  are  like  the  bourneless  wind, 

Unwearied  as  unseen — 

And  ye,  on  whom  the  call 

To  wealth,  rank,  glory,  has  no  mastering  sway  ; 
Faithful,  and  just,  and  kind,  in  hut  or  hall — 

Oh,  pass  not  thus  away  ! 
For  sure  it  is  unmeet 

That  ye,  who  form  life's  beauty  and  its  worth, 
Blessing  its  mingled  cup  with  all  its  sweet, 
Should  lightly  pass  from  earth. 


LOVE'S  SECOND-SIGHT. 

[AR  through  the  dim,  lone  vistas  of  the  night, 

As  eye  to  eye,  thy  form  and  face  appear, 
Love's  inward  vision  needs  no  outward  light, 
No  magic  glass  to  bring  the  absent  near. 

Seas  roll  between  us.     Lo,  the  palm-tree  throws 
Its  shadow  southward  from  yon  moonlit  hill  ; 

And  stars  that  never  on  my  boyhood  rose, 
Are  round  me  now,  and  yet  I  see  thee  still  i 

Alone  thou  sighest  on  the  beaconed  steep, 
While  sports  thy  sister  by  the  waves  alone  : 

Why  dost  thou  gaze  so  fondly  o'er  the  deep  ? 
Ah,  blush  not,  love,  the  tender  truth  to  own  ! 

I  see  thee  sink  upon  thy  bended  knees, 
Yet  not  as  one  who  bows  in  mute  despair ; 

Nor  need  I  listen  to  the  tell-tale  breeze, 

To  learn  whose  name  is  oftenest  in  thy  prayer. 

34 


LOVE'S  SECON-D SIGHT.  35 

Thy  cheek  is  wet — was  that  a  falling  gem 

From   the   pearled   braid   that   binds  thy  golden 
curls  ? 

No,  never  shone  from  jewelled  diadem 
A  gem  so  bright  as  beauty's  liquid  pearls. 

Thou  turn'st  away — though  fair  the  moonlit  main, 
No  sail  appears,  thy  yearning  heart  to  thrill  : 

One  long,  last  gaze,  and  on  the  night  again 
Thy  casement  closes,  yet  I  see  thee  still  ! 

On  thy  sweet  face,  as  in  a  magic  glass, 

I  see  the  shapes  that  haunt  thy  slumbering  eyes  : 

What  smiles  of  joy,  when  Hope's  gay  visions  pass  ! 
What  pictured  woe,  when  Fear's  dark  phantoms 
rise  ! 

Why  dost  thou  wake,  while  yet  the  East  is  dark, 
To  hold  sad  commune  with  the  wind  and  surge  ? 

'Twas  but  a  dream  that  wrecked  thy  lover's  bark, 
Only  a  dream  that  sang  his  ocean  dirge  ! 

Even  now  that  bark,  before  the  homeward  gale, 
Flies  like  a  bird  that  seeks  her  callow  nest ; 

Soon  shall  thine  eyes  behold  its  furling  sail, 
Soon  thy  fond  bosom  to  my  own  be  prest  ! 

I  could  not  fail  to  hold  my  course  aright, 

Though  every  orb  were  quenched  in  yon  blue  sea : 

Love's  inward  vision  needs  no  outward  light, 
Star  of  my  soul,  no  cynosure  but  thee  ! 


LIGHT. 


Bright  effluence  of  bright  essence  increate ! 
Before  the  sun,  before  the  heavens,  thou  wert. 

— MILTON. 


I. 

]ROM    the    quickened    womb    of    the    primal 

gloom 

The  sun  rolled  black  and  bare, 
Till  I  wove  him  a"  vest  for  his  Ethiop  breast, 

Of  the  threads  of  my  golden  hair  : 
And  when  the  broad  tent  of  the  firmament 

Arose  on  its  airy  spars, 
I  pencilled  the  hue  of  its  matchless  blue, 
And  spangled  it  round  with  stars. 

II. 

I  painted  the  flowers  of  Eden  bowers, 

And  their  leaves  of  living  green, 
And  mine  were  the  dyes  in  the  sinless  eyes 

Of  Eden's  virgin  queen  ; 
36 


LIGHT.  37 

And  when  the  Fiend's  art  on  her  trustful  heart 

Had  fastened  its  mortal  spell, 
In  the  silvery  sphere  of  the  first-born  tear 

To  the  trembling  earth  I  fell. 

in. 
When  the  waves  that  burst  o'er  a  world  accursed. 

Their  work  of  wrath  had  sped, 
And  the  Ark's  lone  few,  the  tried  and  true, 

Came  forth  among  the  dead  ; 
With  the  wondrous  gleams  of  my  braided  beams, 

I  bade  their  terrors  cease, 
As  I  wrote  on  the  roll  of  the  storm's  dark  scroll 

God's  covenant  of  peace. 

IV. 

Like  a  pall  at  rest  on  a  pulseless  breast, 
Night's  funeral  shadow  slept 

Where  shepherd  swains  on  the  Bethlehem  plains 
Their  lonely  vigils  kept ; 

When  I  flashed  on  their  sight  the  heralds  bright 
Of  heaven's  redeeming  plan, 

As  they  chanted  the  mom  of  a  Saviour  born- 
Joy,  joy  to  the  outcast  Man  ! 


v. 


Equal  favor  I  show  to  the  lofty  and  low, 
On  the  just  and  unjust  I  descend  ; 


38  LIGHT. 

E'en  the  blind,  whose  vain  spheres  roll  in  darkness 
and  tears, 

Feel  my  smile  the  blest  smile  of  a  friend  : 
Nay,  the  flower  of  the  waste  by  my  love  is  embraced, 

As  the  rose  in  the  garden  of  kings —      « 
At  the  chrysalis  bier  of  the  worm  I  appear, 

And  lo  !  the  gay  butterfly's  wings  ! 


The  desolate  Morn,  like  a  mourner  forlorn, 

Conceals  all  the  pride  of  her  charms, 
Till  I  bid  the  bright  Hours  chase  the  Night  from 
her  bowers, 

And  lead  the  young  Day  to  her  arms  : 
And  when  the  gay  rover  seeks  Eve  for  his  lover, 

And  sinks  to  her  balmy  repose, 
I  wrap  their  soft  rest,  by  the  zephyr-fanned  west, 

In  curtains  of  amber  and  rose. 


From  my  sentinel  step,  by  the  night-brooded  deep, 

I  gaze  with  unslumbering  eye, 
When  the  cynosure  star  of  the  mariner 

Is  blotted  from  the  sky  ; 
And  guided  by  me  through  the  merciless  sea, 

Though  sped  by  the  hurricane's  wings, 
His  compassless  bark,  lone,  weltering,  dark, 

To  the  haven-home  safely  he  brings. 


LIGHT.  39 


VIII. 


I  waken  the  flowers  in  their  dew-spangled  bowers. 

The  birds  in  their  chambers  of  green  ; 
And  mountain  and  plain  glow  with  beauty  again, 

As  they  bask  in  my  matinal  sheen. 
O  if  such  the  glad  worth  of  my  presence  to  earth, 

Though  fitful  and  fleeting  the  while, 
What  glories  must  rest  on  the  home  of  the  blest, 

Ever  bright  with  the  DEITY'S  smile  ! 


HYMN  TO  THE  CLOUDS. 

Turn  poteris  magnas  moleis  cognoscere  eorum, 
Speluncasque  velut  saxis  pendentibu'  structas 
Cernere. 

LUCRETIUS. 

LL  hail  !  ye  graceful  children  of  the  sun, 

Whose  genial  beams  evoked  your  fairy  forms 
From  ocean's  quickened  bosom,  or  the  lap 
Of  silver  lakes,  or  heart  of  shimmering  streams, 
Or  green  savannas,  where  the  moonlit  night 
Enspheres  her  brightest  galaxy  of  dews  ! 
Come  ye  with  airy  chalices  to  fill 
The  wild  flower's  languid  eyes  with  tears  of  joy — 
Come  ye  to  catch  the  earliest  smiles  of  morn, 
And  pour  their  reflex  on  the  vales  below  ; 
Or  drape  the  closing  chambers  of  the  day 
With  curtains  woven  in  the  looms  of  heaven — 
Come  ye  to  hush  the  nations  in  deep  awe, 
As  o'er  their  bended  heads,  in  frowning  pomp, 
Ye  waft  the  flashing  armory  of  God  ; 
Or  calm  their  terrors,  when  from  deluged  fields 
They  lift  their  suppliant  eyes,  and  see  again 
40 


HYMN  TO   THE  CLOUDS.  41 

The    rainbow's     promise     beaming     through     the 

storm — 

Come  ye  in  gloom  or  glory,  hope  or  fear, 
Whate'er  your  aspect  or  your  errand,  hail  ! 
Ay,  ever  welcome  to  the  Mountainland 
Where  Freedom  haunts  be  ye,  divinest  types 
Of  her  embodied  presence  ;  famed  of  old 
To  love  the  hoary  fastnesses  she  loves  ; 
For  there  your  grandeur  finds  its  fittest  throne, 
And  hearts  to  kindred  majesty  sublimed. 

Wonder  and  glory  of  the  firmament  ! 

In  earlier  years  strange  questioning  was  mine, 

Of  what  ye  were,  and  whence,  and  whither  bound  ; 

As  to  and  fro  your  gliding  phantoms  trailed 

Their  slanted  shadows  o'er  the  sunny  plains, 

Or  in  mid-air  slept  motionless.     How  oft 

The  half-conned  task  and  tasker's  dreaded  frown 

WTere  unremembered,  as  my  schoolward  steps, 

Enchanted,  lingered  while  I  gazed  and  gazed 

On  your  fantastic  phases  !  seeming,  now, 

Aerial  mountains  stranger  than  the  shapes 

That  haunt  wild  dreams,  or  throng  the  fabling  lore 

Of  earth's  first  minstrels  ;  then,  celestial  isles 

Embosomed  in  the  calm  of  azure  seas  ; 

Then,  bright  pavilions  where  the  storm-tost  sylph 

Might  furl  her  ruffled  wings  in  soft  repose  ; 

Anon,  sky-mountains  cliffed  with  giant  gems 

Of  ruby,  sapphire,  amethyst  or  pearl, 


42  HYMN  TO   THE  CLOUDS. 

From  whose    resplendent    peaks,   methought,  were 

hewn 

The  gorgeous  shafts,  and  architraves,  and  domes, 
That  grace  the  vistas  of  the  Fairyland. 

Free  rovers  of  the  boundless  and  the  free  ! 

To  every  breeze  ye  fling  your  careless  sails, 

And  course  from  zone  to  zone,  by  night  or  day  ; 

With  store  of  laden  jewels,  to  which  earth's, 

Thrice  told  in  all  their  glory,  were  but  dross. 

Nor  hoard  ye  these,  blest  almoners  of  Him 

Whose  bounty  knows  nor  weariness  nor  bourne  ; 

But,  true  to  your  high  mission,  visit  all 

That  breathe  or  be,  with  largesses  of  love. 

To  vernal  climes,  aerial  argosies  ! 

Ye  waft  from  warmer  skies  the  early  rain, 

And  lo  !  the  lifeless  bosom  of  the  waste 

Beteems  with  quickened  germs  ;  the  naked  glebe 

Is  robed,  anon,  as  with  a  mantle  dyed 

In  liquid  emeralds  ;  and  every  gale 

That  waves  the  bridal  drapery  of  May, 

Baptised  in  floral  sweets,  a  spirit  seems 

Just  parted  from  the  Gardens  of  the  Blest. 

But  Nature,  most,  in  Summer's  fiery  reign, 
Exults  in  your  glad  presence  and  adores  ; 
For  then  a  deeper  and  intenser  life, 
And  hopes  and  fears  of  mightier  concern, 
As  linked  with  plenty's  weal  or  famine's  woe, 


HYMN  TO   THE  CLOUDS.  43 

On  your  celestial  ministries  depend. 

When  faints  the  breeze,  and  e'en  the  very  air 

Grows  visible  with  crinkling  sultriness, 

And    flowers    shrink    earthward    from    the   brazen 

gaze 

Of  suns  that  wanton  nearer,  day  by  day  ; 
When  flocks  and  herds  forsake  the  russet  hills 
For  glens  where  nooks  of  herby  green  still  smile  ; 
When  upland  glades  are  glorious  no  more 
With  flash  of  sunlit  streams,  and  lowliest  dells 
Scarce  catch  the  murmur  of  their  dying  dirge — 
Then  shouts  the  swain  to  hear  the  thunder-tramp 
Of  your  roused  legions,  echoing  from  afar  ; 
And  gladlier  yet,  to  see  their  dusky  van 
O'erloom  his  near  horizon,  and  frown  back 
The  noon's  effulgence  from  his  withering  fields. 
Still,  where  he  stands,  so  deep  the  breathless  calm, 
The  spider's  pendent  streamer  plumbs  the  air 
Direct  as  line  of  steel ;  but  on  the  heights 
Beyond  the  sultry  vale,  he  sees  the  groves 
Wave  their  green  signals,  and  the  harvest-slopes 
Break  into  golden  billows  like  a  sea 
Of  amber  glory,  as  the  courier  gale 
Speeds  onward  in  its  heralding  of  joy. 
Anon,  the  silvery  curtains  of  the  shower 
Infold  the  lessening  landscape  from  his  view  ; 
And  now  the  leafy  shelter  o'er  his  head 
Rustles  with  liquid  music,  as  ye  pour 
The  beaded  crystal  from  your  misty  urns  ; 


44  HYMN  TO   THE  CLOUDS. 

And    hark  !    the    streams    have    found   their  harps 

again, 

And,  in  wild  chorus  from  the  wimpled  hills, 
Proclaim  their  boisterous  gladness  to  the  vales. 

And  Autumn,  too,  rejoices  when  the  storm 
Unseals  your  wafted  Horebs  o'er  her  wastes, 
And  spring  and  mere  replenishes  anew, 
To  bless  the  homeless  creatures  of  the  wild 
With  grateful  bounty  graciously  bestown, 
What  time  all  else  grows  pitiless  and  stern. 
Nor  are  ye  praiseless,  when  the  ruffian  hand 
Of  Winter  strips  from  Nature's  stricken  form 
Her  weeds  of  faded  wretchedness,  and  leaves 
Her  shivering  bosom  naked  to  the  blast  ; 
For  then  around  her  palsied  heart  ye  fold 
Your  fleecy  mantle,  till  the  sunny  Spring 
Shall  bid  its  pulses  throb  with  joy  again. 

Thus  with  the  Seasons  in  eternal  change, 

And  with  the  chainless  winds,  ye  circle  on, 

O'er  earth  and   ocean,    through    the    day's   bright 

round, 

Or  night's  dim  shadow,  beaconed  by  her  stars. 
Oh,  stoop  your  wandering  pinions  and  upbear 
A  lowly  suppliant  in  your  flight  sublime  ! 
Yon  mountain  cincture  of  his  native  vale 
Embraces  all  the  universe  he  knows  ; 
Ah  !  bear  him  hence  to  that  remoter  world, 


HYMN  TO   THE  CLOUDS.  45 

O'er  whose  broad  realms  and  intervolving  seas, 
Isles,  lakes,  streams,  shrines  and   fields  of  old  re 
nown, 

As  chartered  pilgrims  ye  have  gazed  at  will. 
Let  him  with  you  behold  the  morning-star, 
While  yet  the  mountain-peaks  are  palled  in  gloom  ; 
And  gaze  at  eve  upon  the  lingering  sun, 
While  Alps  or  Andes  mourn  his  vanished  smile  ; 
Let  him  behold  the  eagle's  stalwart  wing, 
Upsweeping,  falter  far  beneath  the  height 
Of  your  sublimer  soaring  ;  and  beyond 
The  utmost  trace  of  man's  determined  will 
To  plant  his  foot  upon  the  stormy  poles, 
Still  bear  him  onward  in  your  boundless  sweep  ; 
That  one,  at  least,  of  mortal  birth  may  see 
How  ye  for  long  dark  centuries  have  piled 
Their  awful  wastes  with  everlasting  snows  ; 
And  list  the  thunder  of  the  meteor  main 
Boom  on  the  shuddering  air,  when,  many  a  league, 
The  frost-pang  rives  its  adamantine  deeps. 

Vain  wish  !  though  man   may   launch   his  echoing 

car 

Sheer  through  the  cloven  hills,  or  bare  the  heart 
Of  rock-ribbed  mountains   for  the   glittering  stores 
Hid  in  their  sunless  crypts  ;  may    mock   the  winds 
As  o'er  the  waves  they  chase  his  careless  bark  ; 
Or  bid  the  storm  lash  white  the  yeasty  surge, 
While,  undismayed,  beneath  the  wild  uproar 


46  HYMN  TO  THE  CLOUDS. 

He  walks  the  pathless  mazes  of  the  deep — 
Yet  when  his  vain  presumption  would  ascend 
Your  glorious  heights,  proud  fondlings  of  the  air, 
The  swallow  soaring  from  her  lowly  nest 
Doth  laugh  his  vaulting  impotence  to  scorn  ! 

And  yet  the  groveling  worm— the  meanest  thing 

On  whose  blind  wants   your  blest  aspersion  falls — 

Hath  wings  unfolding  in  its  reptile  frame, 

And  instincts  ripening  for  a  nobler  sphere. 

Therefore,  O  man  !  though  tethered  to  the  clod, 

Take  heart  from  thy  low  brother  of  the  dust, 

And  deem  his  fate  presageful  of  thine  own. 

Yon  sovran  shapes,  whose  coursers  are  the  winds. 

Whose  range  the  airy  infinite,  whose  robes 

The  prismy  texture  of  celestial  beams, 

But  now  were  portion  of  the  trodden  earth, 

Or  of  the  weltering  chaos  of  the  deep  ; 

Till  from  gross  ties  emancipate,  they  rose 

To  nearer  fellowship  with  sun  and  star. 

Then  lift  thine  eyes  to  those  exalted  ones, 

And  trust  that  when  these  Adams  fall  to  dust, 

The  spirit,  plumed  for  seraph  flights,  shall  soar 

To  high  communion  with  the  hosts  that  range, 

On  Mercy's  hests,  the  universe  of  God  ! 


ORPHEUS  IN  HADES. 


Manesque  adiit,  Regemque  tremendum.— VIRGIL. 

Geog.  IV,  v,  469. 


Is  this  awful  presence  real  ? 

This  grim  Pluto's  dread  domain  ? 
Or  not,  rather,  some  ideal 

Figment  of  a  troubled  brain  ? 
Nay,  it  is  no  mocking  vision 

Born  of  frantic  hope  or  fear, 
And  my  heart  with  calm  decision 

Whispers,  Minstrel,  be  of  cheer  ! 

[Addresses  Pluto.] 
Lo  !  the  first  of  living  mortals 

That  e'er  crossed  the  Stygian  wave 
Do  not  spurn  me  from  your  portals, 

Nor  refuse  the  boon  I  crave  ! 
By  that  queenly  form  beside  thee, 

Rapt  from  Enna's  flowery  fold, 
King  of  Hades,  do  not  chide  me 

If  I  seem  unseemly  bold. 
47 


48  ORPHEUS  IN  HADES. 

[To  himself.] 
Rocks  and  woods  my  footsteps  follow, 

Wildest  streams  in  silence  stand, 
When  thy  golden  gift,  Apollo  ! 

Melts  in  music  to  my  hand. 
Shall  its  tones  prove  less  enchanting 

Here,  than  in  yon  world  above, 
When  its 'master,  faint  and  panting, 

Pleads  the  cause  of  life  and  love  ? 

[To  his  Lyre.] 
Let  me  try  what  magic  slumbers, 

Lyre  !  in  thy  melodious  chords  ; 
When  to  music's  sweetest  numbers 

Passion  weds  her  tenderest  words- 
See  !  the  Furies  lean  to  listen, 

Atropos  relenting  hears  ; 
Nay,  e'en  Pluto's  stern  eyes  glisten, 

Proserpine's  are  drowned  in  tears  ! 

[To  the  King  and  Queen.] 
Oh  !  how  sweet  your  answer  falleth 

On  my  spirit,  rapt  and  still  : 
"  Fate  thy  darling's  doom  recalleth — 
Mortal,  thou  shalt  have  thy  will ! 
She  for  whom  thy  soul  is  yearning, 
Sunward  shall  thy  steps  retrace  ; 
But  beware,  the  while,  of  turning 
Once  to  gaze  upon  her  face  !  " 


ORPHEUS  IN  HADES.  49 

[To  himself,  enraptured.] 

Shall  I,  then,  again  behold  her, 

As  in  days  so  fondly  blest  ? 
Shall  these  widowed  arms  enfold  her, 

These  sad  lips  to  hers  be  prest  ? 
Oh,  the  just  yet  sweet  confession 

Of  a  rapture  so  intense  ! 
Silence  were  its  best  expression, 

Tears  its  truest  eloquence. 

See  !  yon  golden  gate  discloses 

Glimpses  of  the  blissful  bowers, 
Where  immortal  youth  reposes, 

Crowned  with  amaranthine  flowers  • 
And,  as  she  the  threshold  crosses, 

From  the  fields  of  asphodel 
Comes  a  swell  of  spirit  voices, 

Softly  murmuring,  Fare  thee  well ! 

[To  the  friends  of  Eurydice.] 

Sister  Souls  !  your  choral  blessing 

Fate  shall  tenderly  fulfill — 
In  my  arms,  caressed,  caressing, 

She  shall  find  Elysium  still ; 
For,  wherever  truth  and  duty 

Link  the  loving,  heart  to  heart, 
Your  fair  world  in  all  its  beauty 

Sees  its  perfect  counterpart. 


5°  ORPHEUS  IN  HADES. 

[To  the  restored  Wife.] 

Grieve  not,  dearest,  that  thy  lover 

Leads  thee  with  averted  face  ; 
Ah,  the  Stygian  bourne  once  over, 

How  he'll  spring  to  thy  embrace  ! 
But  till  that  dear  consummation, 

Be  the  thought  our  mutual  cheer  : 
That  in  deepest  obscuration 

Each  to  each  is  ever  near. 

Lo,  already,  faintly  gleaming, 

Far  Avernus  dawns  to  sight  * 
Down  whose  dusky  caverns  streaming 

Glance  the  golden  shafts  of  light ! 
As  they  brighter  fall  around  thee, 

Fainter  pleads  my  woful  vow — 
Nay,  though  thousand  oaths  had  bound  mev 

1  must  see  thee,  here  and  now  ! 

[Turns  to  embrace  her.] 

Fairest  of  all  fairest  faces, 
»  Oh  !  the  rapture,  once,  once  more 

To  behold  those  dimpled  graces, 

Lovelier  far  than  e'er  before  ! 
But,  alas,  the  hopes  they  waken, 

Vanish  like  a  frighted  bird — 
Ah,  so  soon  to  be  forsaken 

By  a  bliss  so  long  deferred  ! 


ORPHE  US  IN  HA  DE  S.  5  I 

|"To  the  opposers  of  his  pursuit  of  Eurydice.l 
Back,  ye  Gorgons,  grimly  glaring 

Where  the  rosy  vision  fled  ! 
All  your  banded  fury  daring, 

I  again  will  seek  my  dead, 
Vain,  vain  boast  !  forever  vanished 

Is  thy  dream  the  loved  to  free — 
By  thy  own  blind  passion  banished, 

Justest  Fates,  too,  banish  thee. 

Yet  ye  have  not  all  bereft  me, 

Parcae  !  spurned  from  Lethe's  shore — 
This  dear  solace  still  is  left  me, 

That  I've  seen  her  face  once  more  ! 
And  whatever  hence  betide  me, 

That  fair  vision,  day  and  night, 
Like  a  star,  at  last  shall  guide  me 

To  her  own  blest  land  of  light. 


THE   LAST  AUTUMNAL  WALK. 

IHEN  we  last  paced  these   sylvan  wilds,  dear 

friend, 

Each  shrub,  and  tree,  and  swarded  space  between, 
Were  flush  with  balmy  June,  and  every  nook 
Of  all  the  grove  could  boast  its  own  sweet  lyre. 
Our  path  was  paved  with  shadows  gaily  flecked 
With  glints  of  golden  sunlight,  as  it  were 
The  print  of  angels'  topaz-sandaled  feet 
Upon  the  glowing  turf  ;  and  as  we  strayed 
From  glen  to  glen,  no  dusky  forms  kept  pace 
With  our  own  steps,  along  the  browner  shades. 
Thy  arm  was  linked  in  mine,  and  oftentimes 
Amid  the  choral  symphony,  our  lips 
Broke  into  song  spontaneous  as  the  birds' 

Four  moons  have  run  their  cycles  since  we  stood 
In  Summer's  green  pavilion, 'then  so  gay, 
But  now  so  changed  we  scarce  can  recognize 
One  form  or  feature  of  the  faded  scene. 
No  bird  recalls  the  melodies  of  June, 
No  flower  its  sweets,  no  bough  its  rustling  shades  ; 
52 


THE  LAST  AUTUMNAL   WALK.  53 

Through  all  the  roofless  grove  the  sun  stares  in 
With  unobstructed  gaze,  and  as  we  pass, 
Twin  shadows  glide  beside  us,  arm  in  arm, 
With  silent  footfall  on  the  dreary  waste. 
When  now  we  pause,  'tis  not  with  merry  lips 
To  swell  the  sylvan  concert  ;  but  to  blend 
Our  sigh  with  Nature's,  as  in  funeral  stole 
Forlorn  she  follows  Autumn's  passing  bier  ; 
And,  dearest,  while  I  turn  to  whisper  cheer, 
Thy  blue  eyes  overbrim,  and  silver  rain 
Falls  audibly  upon  the  rustled  leaves. 

Yet     know,    sweet    mourner,    and     assured,    take 

heart, 

That  'neath  these  russet  cerements,  not  in  death, 
But  quick  quiescence,  sleep  the  hopes  of  Spring  ! 
No  seed,  no  germ,  no  bulb  of  vanished  flower, 
No  folded  bud  in  all  the  bosky  wild, 
Is  numbered  with  the  dying  or  the  dead  ; 
Nay,  in  the  palzied  heart  of  these  stark  trees 
The  languid  pulse  of  life  still  patient  beats. 
A  few  brief  months,  and  we  will  stand  again 
On  the  green  summit  of  this  forest  knoll, 
And  list,  delighted,  to  the  flying  harps, 
That  fill  the  leafy  aisles  with  vernal  joy. 
Before  our  steps  the  velvet  sward  again 
Shall  spread  its  sun-flecked  shadows,  and  full  oft 
By  marge  of  dancing  stream,  thy  careless  foot 
Shall  sink  in  tufted  violets  instep-deep  ; 


54  THE  LAST  AUTUMNAL  WALK. 

What  time  the  cornel  and  the  hawthorn  cast 
Their  snowy  blossoms  on  the  scented  air, 
And  every  floral  chrysalis  awakes 
To  life  and  beauty  from  its  shrouded  sleep. 

Meanwhile,  dear  friend,  in  our  suburban  cot 
Thy  favorite  flowers  shall  bloom  the  Winter  long, 
And  day  and  night,  with  silent  lips  still  breathe 
Sweet-scented  thanks  to  thee  ;  for  in  thy  smiles 
They  shall  not  miss  the  charm  of  sunny  skies, 
Nor  in  thy  household  songs  remember  more 
The  song  of  birds,  but  deem  'tis  Summer  still. 
Thyself  their  Flora,  from  thy  genial  hand 
Shall  fall  the  needed  dews  each  coming  morn  ; 
Till  vernal  sun  and  voice  of  vernal  choirs 
Shall  call  us  forth  to  these  dear  wilds  again  ! 


TO  A  BUTTERFLY  SEEN  IN  A  CROWDED 
STREET. 

JHEREFORE,  little  fluttering  thing 

With  the  rainbow-tinted  wing, 
And  the  right,  at  will,  to  rove 
Sunny  lawn  and  shadowy  grove, 
Hast  thou  left  demesnes  so  blest, 
To  be  Babel's  hapless  guest  ? 
Here's  no  fitting  haunt  for  thee, 
Boon  companion  of  the  bee  ! 
Born,  like  her,  with  flowers  to  dwell 
In  the  sweet  sequestered  dell, 
And  at  Nature's  board  to  sip 
Nectar  from  each  blossom's  lip. 

Here,  where  neath  man's  iron  tread 
Earth's  green  beauties  all  are  dead, 
Thou  wilt  find  no  leafy  screen 
From  the  noontide's  piercing  sheen  ; 
And,  at  eve,  no  fairy  home 
Like  the  lily's  golden  dome. 
55 


56  TO  A  BUTTERFLY. 

Here,  where  hunger's  eager  pain 
Pleads  at  plenty's  door  in  vain  ; 
Or,  if  heard,  too  often  must 
Feel  the  scorn  that  flings  the  cms*  ; 
Thou,  gay  rover,  scarce  shalt  find 
Chartered  feast  or  welcome  kind  ; 
For  if  man  to  man's  austere, 
What  hast  thou  to  hope  for  here  ? 

Haste  thee,  then,  where  skies  are  fair, 
Fresh  as  Spring's  the  Summer  air, 
Bright  as  tears  affection  sheds, 
Dews  that  gem  the  violet  beds, 
Pure  as  morn  the  perfumed  breeze, 
Sweet  the  sylvan  melodies, 
Soft  the  glow  o'er  hill  and  glade, 
Cool  the  very  noontide  shade  ; 
And  where  all  of  earth  and  air 
Freely  Nature's  banquets  share  ! 

"Hold  thee,  bard  !"  the  bright-winged  cries, 
"  Truce  to  rural  rhapsodies, 
Till  I  briefly  tell  thee  why 
Hither  I  came  dancing  by  : 
Seest  thou  all  the  vista  gay 
Thronged  with  fashion's  proud  array  ? 
Tinted  silks,  like  Autumn  trees, 
Waving  brightly  in  the  breeze  ? 


TO  A  BUTTERFLY.  57 


Plume  and  wreath  of  brilliant  dyes, 
Rich  as  sunset's  golden  skies  ? 
Ruby,  pearl,  and  emerald  green 
Basking  in  the  diamond's  sheen  ? 
These  are  but  my  gloss  and  pride, 
Tints  and  tinsel  magnified  ; 
And  where  gaud  and  glare  abound, 
May  not  Nature's  belle  be  found  ? 

"  Mark  again  the  motley  throng 
By  thy  side  that  sweeps  along 
With  so  gay  and  smiling  guise, 
One  might  gaze  with  wondering  eyes, 
For  some  sphered  Elysium  near, 
Whence  such  shapes  had  lighted  here. 
Born  when  Fortune's  starry  scope 
Cast  its  brightest  horoscope  ; 
Heirs  of  leisure,  wealth  and  will, 
How  should  they  their  end  fulfil, 
But  by  idlesse,  fancy,  show, 
As  we  rural  minions  do, 
Whom  they  sometimes  deign  to  visit  ? 
And  both  rhyme  and  reason  is  it, 
That  we,  too,  should  not  contemn 
In  our  turn  to  visit  them, 
Nor  ourselves  unwelcome  see 
Where  our  kith  and  kindred  be  !" 


MY  FRIEND  THE^FRIENIX 


|Y  friend  the  Friend,  of  humble  birth, 

Of  sober  garb  and  sect  demure, 
From  all  the  tests  of  manly  worth 

Comes  forth,  like  tried  gold,  bright  and  pure. 

The  brow  that  modest  broadbrim  hides, 
With  sculpture's  grand  ideal  suits  ; 

And  well  the  mind  that  there  presides, 
Reflects  divinest  attributes  : 

A  mind,  before  whose  searching  light 

The  mists  of  doubt  and  error  fly  ; 
As  flee  the  spectral  glooms  of  night, 

When  morning  opes  her  piercing  eye. 

But  nobler  far  than  noblest  mind 

Impalaced  yet  in  mortal  clay, 
The  great,  warm,  genial  heart  enshrined 

Within  that  quaint  drab  cut-away. 

53 


MY  FRIEND   THE  FRIEND.  59 

A  heart  so  prone  to  pity's  throe, 

To  angel  kindness  so  akin, 
The  faintest  sigh  of  human  woe 

Is  answered  ere  it  well  begin. 

My  friend  the  Friend  you'll  seek  in  vain 
Where  fashion  flaunts  in  noise  and  glare  ; 

But  try  the  haunts  of  want  and  pain — 
You  will  not  fail  to  find  him  there. 

Yet  he,  alas  !  for  three  score  years, 

Beneath  a  grievous  cross  has  bent ; 
But  never  weak,  complaining  tears 

Have  marked  the  doleful  way  he  went. 

My  friend  the  Friend — nay,  Muse,  be  dumb, 

Or  worth  its  noblest  title  give  ! 
Remember  Terence'  Homo  Stun, 

And  call  him  friend  of  all  that  live. 


THE  DOOMED  SHIP. 


[ORED  to  the  heart,  still  nobly  strives 

The  fated  bark  to  foil  the  wave  ; 
As  conscious  of  the  precious  lives 

Her  shattered  strength  perchance  may  save. 

Vain  hope  !     She  sinks  !     Nay,  still  she  floats, 
For  all  her  burden  of  despair  ! — 

Quick  !   babes  and  matrons  to  the  boats — 
Room  for  the  weak  and  helpless  there  !  " 

Not  so,  brave  Luce  !     But  "  save  who  can  " 
Now  summons  to  the  desperate  strife  ! 

What  weight  has  woman  more  than  man, 
In  the  dread  balance,  life  to  life  ? 

Stand  back,  ye  pale,  dishevelled  throng, 
Frail  aspens  of  the  ruthless  sea  ! 

Room  for  the  stalwart  and  the  strong, 
The  bearded  and  the  brave  to  flee  ! 
60 


THE  DOOMED  SHIP.  6 1 

Alas,  when  woman's  feeble  hand 

With  brawny  desperation  strives  ! 
Boat  after  boat,  swift  seized  and  manned, 

Flies  with  its  freight  of  craven  lives. 

Oh,  better  die  the  martyr's  death, 

At  honor's  call,  by  flood  or  flame  ; 
Than  live  to  taint  with  coward  breath 

A  thousand  centuries  of  shame  ! 


THE  SEA-NYMPHS  TO  THE  DRYADS. 

LINES    SUGGESTED     BY    A    COLLECTION    OF     EXQUISITE    SPECI 
MENS    OF    ALG^E. 


Pontumque  per  omnem 
Ridebunt  virides  gemmis  nascentibus  algae. 

— CLAUDIAN. 


|E  Nymphs  !  that  haunt  the  sylvan  stream, 

Or  gambol  on  the  flowery  lea, 
A  dreary  world,  perchance  ye  deem, 
Is  ours  within  the  lonely  sea. 

But,  sisters,  leave  your  fair  sojourn 
Of  rustling  groves  and  mossy  caves, 

And  with  your  own  charmed  vision  learn 
What  beauty  dwells  beneath  the  waves. 

Come  lay  your  trustful  hands  in  ours, 
And  let  us  lead  you,  soft  and  slow, 

To  gardens  graced  with  fairer  flowers 

Than  earth's  most  genial  climes  can  show. 
62 


THE  SEA-NYMPHS  TO   THE  DRYADS.      63 

There  shall  ye  see  the  purple  palms 

That  wave  o'er  grottoes  paved  with  pearls, 

And  vocal  with  melodious  psalms 

From  the  sweet  lips  of  mermaid  girls. 

We've  heard  what  floral  beauty  lies 

O'er  all  your  world  in  vernal  days, 
Nor  are  your  rose's  scents  and  dyes 

Unhonored  in  our  Nereid  lays  ; 

But  fate  has  marred  its  queenly  grace 

With  many  a  disenchanting  thorn, 
And  storms  its  tinted  charms  deface, 

And  leave  it  faded  and  forlorn. 

But  come  with  us,  dear  Oread  band  ! 

To  Fiord's  ocean  lawns  and  bowers, 
Where  thorns  ne'er  wound  the  fondling  hand, 

Nor  Winter  blights  their  happier  flowers. 

Come  where  the  callithamnian  beds 

In  vermeil  beauty  softly  sleep  ; 
Come  where  the  purple  dasya  sheds 

A  Tyrian  splendor  round  the  deep  ! 

Where,  like  a  boundless  prairie-scene, 

Broad  fields  of  living  cladaphore, 
Out-stretched  Hesperian  isles  between, 

Make  green  the  deep's  untrodden  floor  ! 


64       THE  SEA-NYMPHS  TO  THE  DRYADS. 

Oh,  wisely  have  your  poets  sung 

That  VENUS'  birth-place  here  must  be  ! 

For  whence  could  Beauty's  queen  have  sprung 
But  from  our  Eden  of  the  sea  ? 


EDTTH. 

[NTO  my  quiet  life  there  came  one  day 
A  maiden  on  the  April  side  of  May  ; 
Such  April  as,  by  grace  of  kindly  Fates, 
Its  brighter  sister's  charms  anticipates  ; 
And  with  its  buds  half  opening  into  flowers, 
Makes  us  forget  the  bloom  of  later  hours. 
Shall  I  pronounce  her  beautiful  ?     I  could  ; 
But  let  me,  rather,  simply  call  her  good — 
A  little,  merry,  artless,  happy  thing, 
At  whose  bright  smile  the  dullest  cares  take  wing. 

And  after  years  of  absence,  passed  afar 

In   those  far  climes   whence   springs  our  Morning 

Star, 

With  soft  winds  wafted  o'er  the  Western  main, 
Into  my  life  the  maiden  came  again. 
But  now,  the  buds  of  April's  earlier  day 
Were  all  in  blossom  in  her  perfect  May  ; 
Yet  if  I  call  her  beautiful,  the  blush 
Of  deprecation  will  her  temples  flush. 


66 


EDITH. 


Well,  then,  to  spare  ingenuous  maidenhood, 
I'll  call  my  Edith  charming  as  she's  good, 
And  pray  the  angels  who  withheld  at  birth 
The  infant  wings  when  bearing  her  to  earth, 
May  long  retain  them,  ere  at  last  they're  given 
To  waft  their  sister  to  her  native  heaven ! 


THE  HOME-VALENTINE. 

jTILL  fond  and  true,  though  wedded 
long, 

The  bard,  at  eve  retired, 
Sat  pensive  o'er  the  annual  song 

His  home's  dear  muse  inspired  ; 
And  as  he  traced  her  virtues  now 

With  all  love's  vernal  glow, 
A  gray  hair  from  his  bended  brow, 
Like  faded  leaf  from  autumn  bough, 

Fell  to  the  page  below. 

He  paused,  and  with  a  mournful  mien 

The  sad  memento  raised, 
And  long  upon  its  silvery  sheen 

In  thoughtful  silence  gazed  ; 
And  if  a  sigh  escaped  him  then, 

It  were  not  strange  to  say, 
For  Fancy's  favorites  are  but  men, 
And  who  e'er  felt  the  stoic  when 

First  conscious  of  decay  ? 
67 


68  THE  HOME-VALENTINE. 

Just  then  a  soft, cheek  pressed  his  own 

With  beauty's  fondest  tear, 
And  sweet  words  breathed  in  sweeter  tone 

Thus  murmured  in  his  ear  : 
"  Ah,  sigh  not,  love,  to  mark  the  trace 

Of  Time's  unsparing  wand  ! 
It  was  not  manhood's  outward  grace, 
The  charm  of  faultless  form  or  face, 

That  won  my  heart  and  hand. 

"  Lo  !  dearest,  mid  these  matron  locks, 

Twin-fated  with  thine  own, 
A  dawn  of  silvery  lustre  mocks 

The  midnight  they  have  known  : 
But  Time  to  blighted  cheek  and  tress 

May  all  his  snows  impart ; 
Yet  shalt  thou  feel  in  my  caress 
No  chill  of  waning  tenderness, 

No  winter  of  the  heart  !  " 

"  Forgive  me,  dearest  Beatrice  !  " 

The  grateful  bard  replied, 
As  nearer  and  with  tenderer  kiss 

He  pressed  her  to  his  side  ; 
"  Forgive  the  momentary  tear 

To  manhood's  faded  prime  ; 
I  should  have  felt,  had'st  thou  been  near, 
Our  hearts  indeed  have  nought  to  fear 
From  all  the  frosts  of  Time  !  " 


ARE  YOU  'ROUND   YET? 

JELL,  yes,  my  friend,  I'm  still  around, 

In  spite  of  Fortune's  cruel  blows  : 
The  weed,  you  know,  oft  holds  its  ground, 
In  presence  even  of  the  rose  ! 

Death  seems  to  spurn  or  quite  forget, 
At  times,  the  meanest  thing  that  crawls  ; 

The  while  his  dart  strikes  jiown  the  pet 
Adonis  of  imperial  halls. 

Your  blurted  question  doubtless  grew 
From  wonder,  bluntly  unconcealed, 

That  earth  had  not  yet  snatched  from  view 
This  laggard  to  the  Potter's  field. 

Am  /  to  quarrel  with  the  fate 

That  spares  me,  howsoe'er  abhorred, 

And,  with  my  own  hand,  antedate 
The  severing  of  *  the  silver  cord  ? ' 
69 


70  ARE   YOU  'ROUND  YET? 

I'm  always  fain  my  friend  to  please 

In  aught  that  conscience  may  condone  ; 

But  life  is  life,  and  its  surcease 
The  All-disposer  leaves  to  none. 

If  I  had  made  myself,  be  sure 

Some  traits  of  worth  should  stand  so  clear, 
That  even  you  might  still  endure, 

Perhaps,  my  longer  presence  here  : 

For  you  should  see  me  give  their  due 
To  friend  and  foe,  whate'er  it  be ; 

And  inly  feel  my  debt  to  you 

Was  always  less  than  yours  to  me. 

But  let  that  pass — the  world  is  wide, 
With  room  for  all  and9 courses  meet — 

The  broad  highroad  for  flaunting  pride, 
The  close,  shy  path  for  humble  feet  : 

So  we  may  go  our  several  ways, 
Good  strangers,  near  or  far  apart  ; 

For  though  the  sky  be  full  of  days, 
Not  one  shall  bring  us  heart  to  heart. 

To  you  I  leave  the  shining  goal, 
So  often  won  with  honor  wrecked  ; 

I  fail,  yet  failing,  will  console 
My  loss  with  unlost  self-respect. 


ARE    YOU 'ROUND   YET? 

And  so  my  simple  faith  shall  rest 
In  this  fond  hope,  as  aye  before  : 

That  some,  though  few,  who  knew  me  best, 
Will  sigh,  when  I  am  "  'round  no  more." 

ENVOY. 

Friend  !  though  to  careless,  common  sight, 
A  kind  word,  like  the  widow's  mite, 

Seem  but  a  worthless  thing  ; 
In  all  the  social  marts  of  love     . 
Its  purchase-power  is  worlds  above 

The  coffers  of  a  king  ! 


LINCOLN,  MARTYR. 

JEVER  for   years,    when,    closed    our    closet 

door, 

In  voiceless  yearning  we  have  bent  the  knee, 
Have  we  once  failed  or  faltered  to  implore 
Less  for  ourselves  than  thee. 

For  though  our  feet  have  pressed  a  rugged  road, 

Where  cares  grow  sorer  with  each   day's  decline  ; 
How  smooth  our  path,  how  light  our  heaviest  load, 
Martyr,  compared  with  thine  ! 

Perchance  some  shadow  on  our  little  fold  ; 

Some  golden  expectation  turned  to  dross  ; 
Some  wanton  blame,    some  summer  friend   grown 
cold— 

These  were  our  sorest  cross : 

Thine,  the  vast  burden  of  a  nation's  woes  ; 

The  fate  of  struggling  millions,  bond  and  free  ; 
To  be  upborne  amid  the  frenzied  throes 
Of  hate  and  loyalty. 
72 


LINCOLN,  MARTYR.  73 

Thy  pleading  words  for  peace  and  brotherhood, 

Impassioned  friends  perverted  or  ignored  ; 
While  foes  their  pathos  madly  misconstrued, 
And  answered  with  the  sword. 

When  steel  was  silenced  in  the  fierce  debate 

Of  truth  with  falsehood,  law  with  anarchy  ; 
Failing  their  country  to  assassinate, 

They  turned  and  murdered  thee  ! 

Thee,  whose  great  soul  through  all  these  stormy  times, 
When  steadfast  reason  from  her  moorings  swung, 
Sought  but  to  save  the  merciless  from  crimes 
That  palsied  mercy's  tongue. 

All  foulest  names  e'er  coined  by  ribald  scorn 
And  linked  with  curses  of  demoniac  hate, 
Were  wreaked  on  thee,  oh,  gentlest  ruler  born 
To  freedom's  martyr-fate  ! 

Yet  clothed  in  truth's  impenetrable  mail, 

That  fears  no  wound  from  frenzy's  fiercest  shock, 
These  fell  from  thee  as  falls  the  shattered  hail 
From  the  undinted  rock  : 

And  when  the  orphaned  millions  of  the  West 
Above  thy  bier  their  starry  emblems  furled, 
The  wail  forlorn,  that  swelled  from  breast  to  breast, 
Went  echoed  round  the  world. 


74  LINCOLN,  MARTYR. 

The  grand,  who  watched  with  no  benignant  eye 

Thy  mortal  grapple  with  despotic  pride, 
Could  not  repress  the  soul's  ingenuous  sigh 
When  the  great  Tribune  died. 

And,  till  the  prairie  turf  refuse  to  bloom 

When  Spring  entreats  it  with  her  tend'rest  care, 
On  all  the  winds  fond  thoughts  shall  seek  thy  tomb, 
And  breathe  their  requiems  there. 


TIRED" 


|ILGRIM,  whose  path   has  been  so  hard  and 

dreary, 

So  thorn-beset,  with  clouds  so  overcast  ; 
No  wonder,  dearest,  that  forlorn  and  weary, 
Thy  trembling  limbs  sink  under  thee  at  last  ! 

"  So  tired  !  "  Yet  still,  oh  meekest  of   cross-bearers, 
How  dost  thou  yearn  and  wrestle  to  be  strong  ! 

Not  for  thyself,  but  the  beloved  wayfarers, 

Whose  heavy  burdens  thou  hast  borne  so  long  : 

Not    through    fair    scenes    of    fresh     and    joyous 
beauty, 

With  flowers  to  catch  the  foot  on  every  sod  ; 
But  wormwood  wastes,  forlorn  as  human  duty, 

Since  shut  of  Eden,  ever  yet  has  trod. 

"  So  tired — so  tired  !  "  Ah,  well,  a  blessed  guerdon 
Is  surely  theirs  who  triumph  in  the  test  ; 

When  He  who  tries  them  lifts  the  mortal  burden, 
And  evermore  the  weary  are  at  rest  ! 

75 


THE  MOUNTAIN  MONARCH. 

|O,  empires  have  flourished,  and  passed  to  the 

dead, 

For  whose  glory  the  madness  of  millions  has  bled, 
Since   here,    with    a    sway   that   no    challenge  has 

known, 
The    blue    dome    my    palace,    the    mountain    my 

throne, 
I  have  reigned  o'er  the  wilds  from  whose  bosom  I 

sprang, 

A  sovereign  ne'er  cursing  nor  cursed  with  a  pang  ; 
While  the  years  that  have  hurled  the  rent  crag  to 

the  plain, 
Have  but  lifted  my  brow  o'er  a  broader  domain  ! 

A  minstrel  as  well  as  a  monarch  am  I, 

And  with  green-harp  in  tone  with  all  moods  of  the 

sky, 

My  matins  first  welcome  the  advent  of  Day, 
As  he  springs  from  the  Morn's  golden  portals  away  ; 
And  dear  to  his  ear  are  the  hymns  I  attune, 
When  in  glory  he  looks  from  his  palace  of  Noon  , 
76 


THE  MOUNTAIN  MONARCH.  // 

And  mine  his  last  smile  as  he  sinks  to  repose, 
And    Eve's    jeweled   hand  draws   his    curtains    of 
rose. 

Man  shrinks  to  his  covert  on  mountain  and  plain, 

When  bursts  the  wild  tempest  in  thunder  amain  ; 

But  calm  as  the  cliff-pinioned  Titan  of  old, 

I  breast  the  mad  onslaught,  unshrinking  and  bold  ; 

Assured  of  my  foothold,  whatever  the  shock 

Of  the   mad   winds   to  wrench   it   uptorn  from  the 

rock, 

And  never  once  dreaming  of  triumph  to  fail, 
When  writhing,  convulsed,  in  the  grasp  of  the  gale  ! 

Yet  the  hero,  whose   locks   shall  ne'er  whiten  with 

time, 
Whose    bosom    still    throbs   with    the    pulse  of    its 

prime — 
Ever  green,  when   my  liege   groves  are  leafless  and 

dead,. 
Ever   singing,  when  all  their  winged  choirists  are 

fled— 
Even  I,  whose   throned   grandeur   so   scathless  has 

passed 
Through  the  spears  of  the  lightning,  the  rage  of  the 

blast, 

Must  fall,  and  the  osprey  afar  on  the  deep 
Shall  miss  his  green  beacon  that  waved  from  the 

steep  ! 


78  THE  MOUNTAIN  MONARCH. 

But    the    mouldering    mounds    that    enhallow    my 

shade, 
Where  the  red  tribes  of  old  their  great  sagamores 

laid, 
Shall  grudge    not  a  couch  with  their  bravest  and 

best, 
Mid  the   gray  cairns  that   grimly  stand  guard  o'er 

their  rest ; 
And   grand   shall  my   fall   be,  my  death-summons 

meet, 

When  far  round  the  echoing  mountains  repeat : 
"  Room  !    graves    of    the    mighty — new   honor    he 

brings — 
Let  the  dust  of  the  kingly  commingle  with  kings' !  " 


PLEA  FOR  THE  SPOILT  CHILDREN. 

I  EAR  simple  Uncle  Samuel,  pray 

Let  the  spoilt  darlings  have  their  way, 

Just  for  this  blessed  once  ! 
Why  should  you  mind  the  old  disgrace 
Of  making  faces  to  your  face  ? 
There's  nothing  mortal  in  grimace, 

Nor  in  their  taunt  of  "  dunce." 

They've  been  so  used,  poor  petted  dears, 
To  storm  and  swear,  for  years  and  years, 

As  whim  or  passion  led — 
To  answer  kind  words  with  a  blow, 
Take  no  for  yes  and  yes  for  no, 
That  if  they  may  no  more  do  so, 

They  might  as  well  be  dead  ! 

I  grant  they've  had  an  awful  spree, 
Sown  the  wild  oats  of  deviltry 

Broadcast,  o'er  sea  and  land  ; 
But  what  a  harvest  has  been  theirs  ! 
What  shocks  on  shocks  of  bloody  tares 
Insult  the  sower's  blasted  cares, 

The  reaper's  empty  hand  ! 
79 


HURRAH  FOR  MEMMINGER  ! 

MASTER-RACE  !    blest   with    superlative 

parts, 

You  are  not  only  peerless  in  science  and  arts  ; 
But  you  top  the  whole  world  in  mechanical  skill, 
And  of  this  the  tip-top  is  your  Memminger  Mill. 

Not  a  soul  had  a  sneer  for  Fourdrinier's  brags, 
When  he'd  got  his  machine,  fed   at  one  end  with 

rags, 

To  gush,  so  to  speak,  at  the  other,  meanwhile, 
With  a  paper-flood  flowing  on  mile  after  mile. 

But  whereas  the  Gaul  grinds  his  rags  into  cash, 
The  Memminger  grandly  converts  his  to  trash 
So  perfect,  a  ton  of  it  doesn't  begin 
To  pay  for  a  tithe  of  the  "  stock  "  he  puts  in. 

Yet,  month  after  month,  the  blind  Samson  grinds  on 
From  day-dawn  to  sunset,  from  sunset  to  dawn  ; 
Sublimely  unmoved,  though  all  Dixie  assert 
Each  hour  yields  but  sequence  of  sorrier  dirt. 
80 


HURRAH  FOR  MEMMINGER  !  8 1 

O  boss  !  of  the  grand  rags-and-lampblack  concern, 
By  far  the  best  plan  you  can  dream  of,  to  learn 
What's  the  matter  the  outcome's  so  wofully  mean, 
Is — to  iun  yourse/f,  bodily,  through  the  machine  : 

For,  though  you  may  fail  the  Rag- Imp  to  discover, 
You'll  gain  the  advantage  of  being  ground  over  ; 
Or  ground  deadly  fine,  which  were  luckier  still 
For  the  dupes  of  your  infinite  Shinplaster-Mill ! 


THE  SEER  THAT  DIDN'T  SEE  IT. 

was,   once    on    a    time,   up   in   Utica 
town, 

A  seer  of  first-rate  democratic  renown, 
Who,  with  eyes  shut  or  blindfold,  could  see  more,  I 

ween, 

Than  by  any  light,  anywhere,  is  to  be  seen  ; 
And  he  loved  the  dark  veil  from  the  future  to  draw, 
That  his  "  friends  "  might  go  snacks  in  the  visions 

he  saw. 

With  the  scorn  of  that  termagant  Tarquin  who  rode 
O'er  the  corse  to  whose  veins  her  own  being  she  owed, 
He  cries:   "  Look  ye  there  !  Weren't  it  bliss  to  behold 
That  pampered  New  England  left  out  in  the  cold, 
To  perish  with  all  the  fanatical  fools 
That  ever  were  '  brayed  '  in  her  infidel  schools  ?  " 

Then  rolling  his  eyes,  like  an  owl  in  the  sun, 
He  groans  :    "  Oh,  my  friends  !  is  it  anywise  fun, 
To  see  that  lean,  awkward,  unmannerly  clown 
Of  the  White  House,  his  big  foot  bring  squelchingly 
down 

82 


THE  SEER  THAT  DIDN'T  SEE  IT.          83 

On  our  Habeas  Corpus,  Free  Speech,  and  Free  Press, 
State  Rights,  and  what  not,  on  the  plea  of  war-stress. 
I'm  a  Seer,  and  see  there  is  no  sort  of  sense, 
Rhyme  or  reason  at  all  in  this  lying  pretense  ; 
But  the  aim  of  a  tyrant  intent  to  crush  out 
Every  vestige  of  freedom,  the  rail-splitting  lout  ! 
And  proclaim  to  his  serfs  :  '  I'm  your  Lord  !  I'm  the 

State  ! 
Beware,  for  my  will  is  the  fiat  of  Fate  !  ' ' 

Here  blurted  in  Daniel  of  Binghamton  :   "  Pooh  ! 

You  a  seer  of  visions,  Horatio  ? — Go  to  ! 

Were  there  half  of  a  mole's  withered  eye  in  your 
head, 

You  couldn't  but  see  yourself  verily  dead  ; 

And  had  you  the  ghost  of  a  nose,  I'll  be  bound, 

You  would  smell  yourself  ripe  for  a  berth  under 
ground, 

Where  your  relics,  well-bedded  in  chloride  of  lime, 

May,  perhaps,  cease  to  reek  in  the  nostril  of  Time  ! 

Lo,  your  friends  at  the  door  wait  with  coffin  and 
bier, 

Each  an  onion  in  hand  to  make  sure  of  a  tear 

For  the  leader  who  had  the  inglorious  lot 

To  bring  his  own  hopes  and  his  party's  to  pot ; 

So,  own  you're  defunct,  make  believe  you're  re 
signed, 

And  let  yourself  sink  out  of  sight,  out  of  mind  ! " 


COUNTERFEIT  PRESENTIMENT. 

"  What  the   Democratic   Party  needs  is  office. —  Tammany 
Oracle. 

]E'RE    sick    to    death    of    self-styled    Demo 
crats  ! 

Shams,  make-believes  of  infinite  concern 
For  the  dear  people's  welfare,  which,  forsooth  ! 
Lies  just  about  as  near  the  wheedler's  heart, 
As  near  the  wolf's, the  welfare  of  the  lamb. 
O  that  our  ears  had  stops  to  close  at  will, 
And  balk  the  shameless  wretches,  as  they  bawl 
Their  hollow  catchwords  :  Amnesty  !  Reform  ! 
Whose  true  interpretation  is,  Our  right, 
Vanquished,  to  rob  the  victor  of  his  spoil 
Won  in  fair  fight ;  to  sink  the  Ship  of  State, 
Unless  the  helm  and  freight  be  yielded  us  ! 
Our  right  to  pardon  perjury  to  God, 
And  treachery  unparalleled  to  man  ; 
To  crush  the  feeble,  fortify  the  strong, 
And,  with  a  retrospective  sympathy, 
Condole  with  Cain  for  that  fraternal  blood, 
Which,  somehow,  had  befouled  his  innocent  hand  ! 
84 


COUNTERFEIT  PRESENTIMENT.  85 

Men  pardon  him  who  tells  the  honest  truth, 

Albeit  bluntly,  and  with  slight  regard 

Whose  self-love  may  be  ruffled  by  his  brass — 

Who  calls  a  crime  a  crime,  a  cheat  a  cheat, 

If  conscience  bids  him  designate  them  thus  : 

So  when  the  juggler  says,  "  You  see  this  sword — 

Hey,  presto,  pass  !  "  and  feints  it  down  his  throat ; 

And  when,  anon,  he  slips  it  from  his  sleeve, 

And  frankly  shows  us  how  the  feat  was  done, 

A  natural  impulse  prompts  us  to  admire 

Alike  his  candor  and  dexterity. 

But  when  your  Democratic  mountebank 

Belies  his  calling,  and  with  saintly  whine 

Avers  we  look  in  vain  to  see  him  bolt 

A  mustard-seed  with  that  small  gorge  of  his, 

The  very  while  his  epigastric  crypts 

Outbulge  a  boa's  glutted  with  an  ox — 

'Tis  hopeless  hard  to  tell  which  most  to  loathe, 

The  creature's  ravin  or  his  brazen  lie. 

He  love  the  people,  he  their  rights  respect, 

Who  picks  their  pockets  while  he  pats  their  back  ? 

Who  bids  them  shut  their  eyes  and  ope  their  mouth, 

Then  mocks  their  duped  expectance  with  the  shells 

Of  precious  kernels  he  will  share  with  none  ? 

Who  lauds  electoral  purity  with  lips 

Sordid  and  calloused  with  cajoling  bribes  ? 

Who,  when  abroad,  reviles  Democracy 

And  all  its  hopes  and  aims  ;  in  full  accord 

With  haughty  bluebloods,  banded,  heart  and  hand, 

To  prop  the  gilded  dryrot  of  old  thrones  ? 


86  COUNTERFEIT  PRESENTIMENT. 

<.£ 

Hear  him  still  argue  that  The  Golden  Rule 

Stops  short  at  Dixie,  has  no  sanction  there, 

Nor  ever  had,  where  White  is  right  and  might, 

And  Black,  full  warrant  for  all  tyrannies. 

Ye  that  cry   'Kuklux,'   have  ye  yet  to  learn 

That  angel  visitants  have  graced  the  earth 

Ere  now,  and  scattered  blessings  in  their  path  ? 

Our  masking  brothers  are  akin  to  these  ; 

Shielding  from  harm  the  friendless  and  forlorn 

Outcasts  for  color  and  the  curse  of  Ham. 

As  for  the  Lost  Cause, — why  the  Scripture  smiles 

Approval  on  the  search  for  what  is  lost. 

Then  wherefore  blame  them,  if  they  fondly  dream 

Of  seeking,  even  by  the  flash  of  steel 

And  cannon-lightnings,  that  dear  waif  again  ? 

In  war  they  keenly  hankered  after  peace  ; 

Why  not  in  peace  now  hanker  after  war  ? 

Men  are  not  mountains  in  their  fixities — 

No  star  that  looks  on  any  man  to-night, 

Will  find  him  just  the  same  to-morrow  eve!' 

O  charming  Democratic  paragons  ! 

If  you  do  crave  return  to  place  and  power, 

More  than  your  country's  honor  and  fair  fame  ; 

If  you  court  office  more  than  you  abhor 

Rebellion,  treason,  murder,  perjury, 

And  all  the  lesser  crimes  that  lackey  these — 

Why  can't  you  muster  manliness  enough 

To  grace  your  greed  by  frankly  owning  it  ? 


COUNTERFEIT  PRESENTIMENT.  87 

For  pity's  sake,  drop  all  historic  names 

Bequeathed  you  by  trite  Democratic  sires, 

For  bright  transmission,  like  the  Gheber's  flame. 

Undimmed  from  age  to  age  ;  that  so,  while  still 

Ye  grovel  on  beneath  the  patriot's  scorn, 

Your  children  may  be  spared  the  crimson  shame 

Of  patronymic  titles  ;  and,  when  dead, 

Ye  curse  no  stone  with  graven  infamies  ; 

But  sink  at  once  to  sheer  oblivion, 

Nameless  and  beingless  for  evermore, 

As  are  the  nothings  of  a  dream  undreamed  ! 


SUMTER. 

like  a  Titan  from  his  sleep, 
The  Northmen's  gathered  might 
Frowns  grimly  toward  the  rebel  deep, 
Where  Justice  points  the  ruffian  keep, 
And  bids  her  thunders  smite. 

Vengeance  has  slumbered  all  too  long, 

Unstartled  by  the  cries 
That  tyranny  can  do  no  wrong, 
Since  might  is  right,  oppression  strong, 

And  only  treason  wise. 

Lord  of  the  wild  waves  and  the  blast, 

Thy  favor  we  implore  ! 
Hold  them  in  peaceful  durance  fast, 
Till  wrath's  vicegerents  leap  at  last 

Upon  the  guilty  shore  : 

Then  let  remorseless  Havoc  rain 
Her  red  bolts,  day  and  night ; 

Till,  like  the  Cities  of  the  Plain, 

No  vestige  of  the  curse  remain 
Unwhelmed  from  mortal  sight  ! 


INVOCATION. 

|H  for  Aladdin's  lamp  one  little  hour  ! 

To  summon  hither  that  prodigious  Power, 
Who  never  let  impossibilities 
One  moment  baffle  his  weird  energies. 
What  would  we  do  then  ?     This  we'd  say  and  do  : 
"  Genius,  forgive  the  task  we  put  you  to — 
Unworthy  your  great  stooping,  we  confess, 
Save  that  the  end  redeems  its  littleness. 
Away  down  South,  the  '  sunny  South  ' — (forsooth  ! 
So  styled,  because  there's  not  a  beardless  youth 
In  all  her  land,  but  thinks,  like  Phaeton, 
Himself  could  drive  the  Horses  of  the  Sun 
Better,  a  heap,  than  the  great  charioteer 
Who's  held  the  steady  reins  since  time's  first  year) — 
Down  South,  we  say,  'mid  sands  and  swamps  un- 

blest, 

The  Fates  have  stuck  a  human  hornets'  nest, 
Whose  fiery  tenants,  ever  on  the  wing, 
Like  Id's  gadfly,  ply  their  maddening  sting 
On  kith  and  kindred  with  exulting  spite — 
The  nearer  kin  the  wilder  the  delight  ! 
89 


90  INVOCATION. 

Now,  potent  Genius  of  the  wondrous  lamp, 

Whose  might  no  mortal  hindrances  can  cramp, 

In  pity  rid  us  of  the  chronic  pest 

Of  this  excrescent  human  hornets'  nest ! 

We  grant  its  suicidal  virulence 

Would  of  itself  soon  end  the  foul  offence  ; 

Yet  wait  not  for  that  riddance  to  befall, 

But  pluck  if  up,  sands,  swamps,    stub-palms,    and 

all 

Its  buzzing  venom  ;  and,  as  erst  you  bore 
Aladdin's  palace  to  the  Libyan  shore, 
And  set  the  foreign  wonder  on  a  site 
Far  down  that  land  of  chaos  and  old  Night ; 
So  bear  this  native  nuisance  bodily 
A  thousand  leagues  across  the  tropic  sea, 
To  some  congenial  Afric  ISallyhack, 
And  let  it  never  dream  of  getting  back  ! 
Hear  us,  O  stalwart  Genius,  and  obey, 
And  your  petitioners  will  ever  pray  ! 


IMPUDENCE. 

S  some  brave  bark  her  sails  shook  out, 
And  slowly  made  wake  from  the  crowded 

pier  ; 
Who  has  not  heard  the  saucy  shout 

Of  the  wherry  lad  merrily  paddling  near  : 
"  Ship  ahoy  !  where's  your  line  ?  bear  a  hand,  ho  ! 
Why  the  deuce  can't  you,  now,  give  us  a  tow  "  ? 

And  who  has  not  seen  the  skipper's  face 

Break  into  ripples,  jolly  fine  ; 
As,  touched  with  some  tickle  of  truant  days, 

Anon  o'er  the  taffrail  he  casts  a  line 
To  the  loud  little  rogue  of  the  tiny  craft, 
And,  presto  !  the  eggshell  is  dancing  abaft  ? 

But  who  ever  saw,  in  his  wildest  dream, 

An  Argo,  rivalling  Noah's  ark, 
With  acres  of  canvas  and  Geysers  of  steam, 

Make  for  a  pert  Liliputian  bark  ; 
And,  dipping  its  proud  pennon  low,  so  low, 
Humbly  entreat  to  be  taken  in  tow  ? 
91 


92  IMPUDENCE. 

Why,  that  is  the  wonder  the  world  now  sees, 

In  the  old  Dominion  Valentine 
Made  fast  by  obsequious  F.  F.  V.'s 

To  the  scrub-palm  dug-out,  Caroline ; 
And  constrained  to  follow  her,  whithersoe'er 
Liliput  madness  may  please  to  steer. 

Beware  how  you  venture  the  Maelstrom's  verge, 
Whither  Secession  pilots  your  way, 

Or  erelong  the  stress  of  its  vengeful  surge 

Will  whirl  you  both   down  from  the    light    of 
day; 

And  your  brag,  and  your  rattlesnake  flag   con 
sign 

To  the  lowest  deep  of  the  world's  vast  brine  ! 


A  VISION   OF  DIXIE  AND  DOUGH   FACES. 

|OO  busy  by  day  to  go  sauntering  out 

To  see  what  our  turbulent  world  is  about, 
I  can  only  assist  at  its  night-ushered  shows, 
When  in  fancy  they  visit  my  attic  repose. 

And  the  strangest  of  scenes   that   e'er  spell-bound 

my  eyes 

With  a  glamour  of  serio-comic  surprise, 
Was  a  vision  of  Richmond  that  rose  yesternight, 
Like  a  crimson  mirage,  on  my  slumbering  sight. 

For,  as  if  just  emerged  from  an  ocean  of  blood, 
Every    object    seemed    stained  with    the    horrible 

flood; 
While  the  clouds  that  gleamed  red  on  hill,  hovel  and 

hall, 
But  deepened  the  hues  which  incarnadined  all. 

Of  «the  crowds    in  the    street   as  they  jostled  and 

swore, 

Not  a  beggarly  rag  was  undabbled  with  gore  ; 
93 


94  A  VISION  OF  DIXIE  AND  DOUGH  FACES. 

But  the  focus  that  glared  with  the  bloodiest  hue, 
Was  the   den  where  scowled  Jeff  and  his  Catiline 
crew. 

And  lo,  while  I  gaze  at  this  animate  clot 
Of  murderers,  perjurers,  thieves  and  what  not, 
Such  a  ludicrous  group  at  the  threshold  appears 
As  had  made  even  Niobe  laugh  through  her  tears  ! 

'Twas  a  set  of  forlorn  Shaking-Quakers — in  looks — 
"  Fernandy,"  Vallandigham,  Seymour  and  Brooks  ; 
All  shad-bellied,  broad-brimmed,  and  meek  as  you 

please, 
Each  waving  a  thicket  of  dwarf  olive  trees. 

And  down  plump  they  all  on  their  drab  marrow 
bones, 

As  "  Fernandy,"  the  spokesman,  in  ruefullest  tones, 

Whimpers  :  "  Take  them,  Great  Jeff,  though  the 
bearers  be  worms, 

And  oh  !  grant  us  peace  on  your  own  royal  terms. 

"  In  our  bleak  Northern  hot-beds,  'mid  curses  and 
sneers, 

We  watered  their  slow-taking  roots  with  our 
tears  ; 

And  words  can't  express,  as  your  highness  opines, 

With  what  toil  we  scarce  got  them  through  Lin 
coln's  grim  lines  !  " 


A   VISION  OF  DIXIE  AND  DOUGH  FACES.   95 

"Avaunt  !  "  yelled  the  conclave  ;  "make  tracks  for 

your  lives  !  " 
As  they  clutched  their    revolvers    and  flashed   out 

their  knives  ; 
"  Do  you  think  with  such  greens  to  tempt  men  of  our 

brains  ? 
Ha  !  verdant  peace-mongers,  here's    pay  for   your 

pains  !  " 

And  bang  !  bang  !  bang  !  bang  !  the  red  arsenal 
crashed, 

As  pell-mell  down  Shockoe  the  shad-bellies 
dashed  ; 

Skirts  straight  out  behind  them,  chins  ditto  be 
fore — 

Of  course  I  awoke  with  a  side-splitting  roar. 

ENVOY. 

Oh  !  yearners  for  peace,  'twere  more  wise  to  re 
frain 

From  hunting  the  White-Winged  in  Dixie  again, 

Till  assured  that  its  Nimrods  yourselves  wont  as 
sail, 

While  crawling  to  shie  the  fresh  salt  on  her  tail! 


JONATHAN  AND  JOHN. 

Fee,  faw,  fum  ! 
John  Bull  is  going  to  come, 
With  cannon  and  ball  and  bomb, 
To  knock  our  towns  into  pi 
And  ourselves  sky-high, 

Because  why  ? 

Why,  because  in  one  of  his  sea-chariots 
We  found  two  of  our  own  Iscariots 

Scaping  unhung  ; 
And  having  of  hemp  no  lack, 
We  ventured  to  bring  them  back 
To  swing  as  their  namesake  swung. 
But  the  act  has  roused  John's  ire, 
And,  fifty  times  madder  than  fire, 
He  is  coming  to — don't,  John,  pray  ! 
Your  will  we  will  not  gainsay, 
But  let  you  have  your  way, 
And  the  brace  of  hoary  Judases, 
Nay,  all  the  brazen  Theudases 
That  rebeldom  boasts  to  day. 
For  you  seem,  John — excuse  the  mention — 
96 


JON  A  THAN  AND  JOHN.  97 

To  have  an  ancient  propension 
For  a  transatlantic  traitor — 
An  indigenous  Yankee  hater 
Of  kith  and  kin — 
Now  don't  begin 

To  color,  and  stammer  nay  ! 
Do  you  think  we've  forgotten,  zounds  ! 
How  you  planked  down  ten  thousand  pounds 

For  our  Benedict  Arnold,  eh  ? 
And  when  you  had  bagged  your  prize 
(If  history  don't  tell  lies). 

You  found  your  royalty  saddled 
With  nothing  but  Dead-Sea  apples,  and  thistles, 
Sow's-ear  purses,  and  pig-tail  whistles, 

And  golden  eggs  all  addled  ! 
For  the  body  and  soul,  for  which  you  paid 
Such  a  rousing  sum  in  that  West  Point  trade, 

Even  Cockneys  valiantly  clarted, 
Were  of  all  human  riff-raff  the  worthlessest  things, 
Save  to  show  that  the  old  saw  squints  shrewdly  at 

kings — 
At  least  at  one  Guelph — as  it  chucklingly  sings 

Of  <k  the  fool  and  his  money  soon  parted  !  " 
But  these  two  Confederate  traitors, 
Pandemonian  prestidigitators, 
For  whose  reclamation,  John,  you  seem  about 
To  break  the  Bank  of  England  out  and  out, 
And  send  your  last  "  lobster  "  to  pot 
With  all  your  provincial  sansculottes — 


9  JON  A  THAN  AND  JOHN. 

This  brace  of  unparalleled  Thugs 

(Unlike  the  old  dabbler  in  drugs) 

Is  worth  all  the  cost  your  exchequer  endures, 

And   the  ''lobsters"  that   goto  the  making  them 

yours  : 

For  Mason  can  teach  even  your  aristocracy 
A  sneer  as  is  a  sneer  at  upstart  democracy — 
How  to  run  human  machines 
With  the  least  outlay  of  means — 
And,  John,  if  you'll  place  in  his  iron  grip 
A  regular  grand  plantation-whip, 

This  old  epidermal  afflictor 

Will  do  all  the  flagellation 

For  the  whole  British  nation 

Without  one  deputy  lictor  ! 

And  as  for  the  facile prmceps  of  these, 

John  Slidell  Mephistophiles, — 
(To  say  nothing  of  his  involuntary  knowledge, 
Acquired  in  the  paternal  soap-and-candle  college, 
Where,  without  doubt,  he  became  so  very  wise 
In  the  concoction  of  all  manner  of  lyes)  (?) 
He  can  teach  how  to  swell  a  lean  minority 
Into  a  myriad  Plaquemine  majority  ; 
Can  show  young  Bull  how  to  eclipse  the  lustre 
Of   Morgan,   Kydd,  Cortez,  or  any  grand  old  fili 
buster  ; 

How  to  dwarf  Catilinean  perjury  ; 
How  to  excel  in  pocket-bleeding  surgery ; 

For,  John,  you  may  cripple  and  blind  him, 


JON  A  THAN  AND  JOHN.  99 

And  he'll  find  his  way  to  your  London  hells 
Ere  he's  been  an  hour  in  the  sound  of  Bow  Bells, 
And  bankrupt  their  most  magnificent  swells, 
With  one  arm  tied  behind  him  ! 


BULLY  FOR  YOU,  JOHN  BULL  ! 

|HE  schoolmen's  donkey  that  stood  stock-still 

Exactly  between  the  two  bundles"  of  hay, 
Whose  equal  attraction  so  balanced  his  will, 

He  stirred  not  ^  hairbreadth  either  way  ; 
Mohammed's  coffin,  entombed  in  air 

Betwixt  heaven  and  earth,  a  marvelous  show, 
Upheld  by  antagonist  forces  there 

In  a  weird,  unwavering  statu  quo  ; 
The  doater  whose  fondness  was  halved  so  well 

By  the  two  gay  rivals'  buxom  charms, 
That  which  was  the  dearer  he  never  could  tell 

When  both,  at  the  same  time,  wooed  his   arms  ; 
The  goodwife  who  looked  with  an  eye  so  just 

On  the  grapple  for  life  of  husband  and  bear, 
That  which  of  the  wretches  should  bite  the  dust, 

She  hadn't  the  ghost  of  a  wish  or  care  ; — 
All  these  are  but  shadows  of  Bull's  "neutrality," 
Bull's  unparalleled  impartiality 
Toward  the  belligerent  Rebs  and  Yanks 

Pitted  for  mutual  slaughter  ; 
The*  sweat  and  blood  of  whose  slashing  ranks 

100 


B  ULL  Y  FOR  YO  U,  JOHN  B  ULL  !  I O I 

(Without  the  least  squinting  at  thrift  or  thanks  !  ) 
He  would  stanch,  good  soul  !  if  he  only  could, 
With  the  same  fond  zeal  that -the  devil  would 
The  leak  in  a  chalice  of  holy  w^ter  ! 

But,  John,  though  your  meek,  self-oblivious  labors, 
Prove  you  the   kindest  and   gentlest  of  neighbors, 
It  wouldn't  be  strange  if,  sometime  and   somehow, 
You  found  yourself  caught  in  a  similar  row 
To  that  your  "  dear  cousins  "  are  tussling  at  now  : 
And  when,  peradventure,  you're  fast  in  the  hug 
Of  some   grim   Gaul,  Celt,  Caffre,    Russ,  Sepoy  or 

Thug, 

We  Yankees,  recalling  the  boundless  excess 
Of  your  zeal  for  our  weal,  can  indeed  do  no   less, 

In  your  mortal  distress 
(Being  flesh  of  your  flesh,  John,  and  bone  of  your 

bone), 

Than  to  build  Alabamas  to  let  you  alone — 
When  you  maunder  for  bread,   to   respond  with  a 

stone, 
In   the  summary  style  that  old  Joab  displayed 

When  he  found  the  young  blade, 

By  his  love-locks  betrayed, 
A  live  target  dangling  adown  the  oak  shade  ; 
And  cried  out,  anon,  with  exuberant  joy, 
"  Here's  to  you,  my  princeling,  my  high  old  boy  !  " 

As  he  let  fly  a  dart 

Right  through  thorax  and  heart, 


1 02  B  ULL  Y  FOR  YO  U,  JOHN  B  ULL  ! 

And  followed  it  up  with  another  apace, 

That    the    soul    of    the    traitor    might,   haply,   be 

eased 

With  a  choice  of  two  wide-enough  outlets  at  least 
XQ  take  itself  off-  into  space. 

Even  so,  my  dear  Bull,  we  are  free  to  declare, 
If  you   do  not  beware 

How  you    trifle  with   wrath   that  not  all  things  en 
dures  ; 

Yankee  Doodle  at  last  will,  as  sure  as  you're  born, 

Drive  his  shaft,  barbed  and  baned,  with  unmerciful 
scorn 

Through  that  cold-blooded,  base  hollow-muscle  of 
yours  ! 


DREAM  OF   THE  DEMOS. 

44  Das  Volk  steht  auf,  der  Sturm  bricht  los." 

KORNER. 

|E  have  had   a  brave  time   of  it,  kings   of  the 

earth  ! 

Since  Gog  first  put  purple  to  clay  ; 
And,  dying,  transmitted  his  wisdom  and  worth 
To  Magog,  entitled  by  virtue  of  birth 
To  lord  it  the  right  royal  way. 

And   by  craft  ye've   maintained  what  bluff   daring 
began, 

Your  grasp  on  the  fairest  and  best  ; 
Consuming  the  cates,  and  commending  the  bran 
To  your  equals  in  all  that  is  noblest  in  man, 

As  your  consciences  needs  must  attest. 

We  are  told  that  of  old  there  was  one  of  your  line 

So  proud  of  his  pomp,  in  the  East, 
That  he  deemed  himself  worthy  of  homage  divine, 
103 


104  DREAM  OF  THE  DEMOS. 

Till  the  Lord  turned  him  out  to  eat  grass  with  the 

kine, 
And  grow  a  respectable  beast. 

Perhaps,  by  the  year  Nineteen  Hundred  or  so, 

We  Demos  may  come  to  such  pass 
As  to  rise  and  bid  Messieurs  Divine  Right  and  Co., 
Czar,  Bourbon,  Braganza,  Guelph,  Hapsburg,  all  go, 

Like  the  great  king  aforesaid,  to  grass. 

Then  *  1'etat  c'est  moi,'  shall  be  Tetat  c'est  nous/ 

The  proud  vaunt  reversed  for  the  nonce  : 
Having  had  quite  enough  of  grand  units  like  you, 
We  fain  would  just  see  how  King  Million  would  do, 
Both  as  sovereign  and  subject  at  once. 


WHO  WILL  THINK  OF  HENRY  ?  " 

|OW  sadly  strange,  it  seems  to  me, 

In  these  gay,  smiling  hours  of  Spring, 
That  mine  the  mournful  task  should  be, 
Dear  Friend,  thy  requiem  to  sing  ! 

Thy  younger  years  fair  promise  made, 
That  when  the  pall  fell  dark  on  mine, 

Thy  fond  regret  should  soothe  my  shade, 
As  now  my  dirge  would  solace  thine. 

Full  well  I  knew  that  worth  may  not 
To  life's  swift  sands  give  slower  fall ; 

Yet  ever,  by  thy  side,  forgot  : 

Whom  the  gods  love,  they  first  recall ! 

As  if,  howe'er  supremely  blest, 

They  could  but  look  with  jealous  eyes, 

On  those  to  whom  the  summoned  guest 
Had  proved  an  angel  in  disguise. 

Ah  well,  like  breath  of  cherished  flowers, 
That  lapse  of  time  but  more  endears, 

The  memory  of  thy  living  hours 
Shall  sweeten  all  my  coming  years  ! 
105 


LINES  TO  A  CHRYSALIS. 

[USING  long,  I  asked  me  this  : 
"  Chrysalis ! 
Lying  helpless  in  my  path, 
Obvious  to  mortal  scath 
From  a  careless  passer-by, — 
What  thy  life  may  signify  ? 
Why,  from  hope  and  joy  apart, 

Thus  thou  art  ? 

"  Nature  surely  did  amiss, 

Chrysalis, 

When  she  lavished  fins  and  wings, 
Nerved  with  nicest  moving-springs, 
On  the  mote  and  madrepore, 
Wherewithal  to  swim  or  soar  ; 
And  dispensed  so  niggardly 

Unto  thee. 

"  E'en  the  very  worm  may  kiss, 

Chrysalis, 

Roses  on  their  topmost  stems 
Blazoned  with  their  dewy  gems, 
106 


LINES  TO  A   CHRYSALIS.  1 07 

And  may  rock  him  to  and  fro 
As  the  zephyrs  softly  blow  ; 
Whilst  thou  liest,  dark  and  cold, 

On  the  mold  !  " 


Quoth  the  Chrysalis  :  "  Sir  Bard, 
Not  so  hard 
Is  my  rounded  destiny 
In  the  great  Economy — 
Nay,  by  humble  reason  viewed, 
There  is  much  for  gratitude 
In  the  shaping  and  upshot 

Of  my  lot. 

"  Though  I  seem,  of  all  things  born 
Most  forlorn, 

Most  obtuse  of  soul  and  sense, 
Next  of  kin  to  impotence, 
Nay,  to  Death  himself ;  yet  ne'er 
Priest  nor  prophet,  sage  nor  seer, 
May  sublimer  wisdom  teach 

Than  I  preach. 

"  From  my  pulpit  of  the  sod, 

Like  a  god, 

I  proclaim  this  wondrous  truth  : 
Farthest  age  is  nearest  youth — 


IO8  LINES  TO  A  CHRYSALIS. 

Nearest  glory's  natal  porch, 
Where,  with  pale,  inverted  torch, 
Death  lights  downward  to  the  rest 
Of  the  blest ! 

"  Mark  yon  airy  butterfly's 

Rainbow  dyes  ! 
Yesterday  that  shape  divine 
Was  as  darkly  hearsed  as  mine  ; 
But,  to-morrow,  I  shall  be 
Free  and  beautiful  as  she, 
And  sweep  forth  on  wings  of  light, 
Like  a  sprite. 

"  Soul  of  man  in  crypt  of  clay  ! 

Bide  the  day 

When  thy  latent  wings  shall  be 
Plumed  for  immortality, 
And  with  transport  marvelous 
Cleave  their  dark  sarcophagus, 
O'er  Elysian  fields  to  soar 

Evermore ! " 


LOOK  ALOFT. 

ADDRESSED     TO    A     UIKTKD     KKIKN1),    TOO      KASll.Y     1  >!:,!  I KAKT 

KNI'.H. 

'   Qui  use  tout  pent  tout  CO  qu'il  CSC." — BERNARD. 

llVE  not  thus  to  listless  sadnc     - 

Hours  the  ]>;irti;il  muse  would  claim  ; 
Up  !   and  with  enthusiast  madness, 
Storm  the  rugged  steeps  of  lame  ! 

Not  by  wishing,  but  by  willing 

O'er  the  c  louds  to  lift  his  ilag, 
(lenius,  aim  with    act  fulfilling, 

1'roudly  (limb',  the  laureled  crag. 

Did  the  youthful  Swiss,  long  dreaming 
Europe's  topmost  round  to  M  ale, 

Sit  him  down  to  idle  s<  heming 
In  the  Arve's  murmuring  vale? 

No  ;  but  o'er  the  glacier  pressing, 

Up  the  granite's  icy  Hank, 
Step  by  d.iunllcs  •,    :,lcp  proi'i  c'.sing, 

Won  he,  ln:,t,  thy  «  rown,   Mont  lihinc  ! 


110  LOOK  ALOFT. 

Be  like  him  a  bold  advancer, 

Nor  the  mocking  laggard  heed — 

Upward  ! — from  the  summit  answer, 
"  They  who  win  may  laugh  indeed  !  " 

When  the  Scottish  Jove's  mad  levin 
Laid  the  noble  minstrel  low  ; 

Swifter  tow'rd  the  muse's  heaven 
Rose  he,  strengthened  by  the  blow. 

He  who  launched  at  eve  the  thunder 
On  the  young  aspirant's  name, 

Waked  to  see  him  throned  in  wonder 
On  the  Himmaleh  of  fame. 

Though  than  Newstead's  bard  less  gifted, 
Tune  thy  harp  to  higher  strain, 

And  its  voice  for  truth  uplifted, 
Shall  a  nobler  audience  gain. 

Ask  not,  darkly  musing,  whether 
Glory's  dawn  be  far  or  nigh  ; 

Clash  the  flint  and  steel  together, 
And  the  sparks  shall  flash  reply. 

Chance  speeds  all,  the  weak  assure  us, 
On  or  from  the  lurking  shelf  ; 

Nay  !  be  thy  own  Palinurus, 
Be  thou  Fate  unto  thyself  ! 


THE  ORANGE  TREE. 


LINES   TO    AN    ORANGE   TREE    RECEIVED    FROM   THE   WEST 
INDIES   IN    AUTUMN. 


thine  Eden  of  the  sea, 

Hapless  tree  ! 
Where  eternal  Summer  smiles 
On  the  green  Caribbean  isles  ; 
Borne  to  this  ungenial  clime 
In  the  scowling  Autumn  time, 
Poor  forlorn  one,  be  of  cheer, 
Hope  is  here  ! 

Thou  shalt  find  a  friend  in  me, 

Outcast  tree  ! 

Who  will  bear  thee  from  the  storm 
To  a  shelter  snug  and  warm  — 
An  asylum,  Winter-proof, 
When  the  snows  assail  my  roof, 
Or  the  sleet  comes  down  amain 

On  the  pane. 


112  THE  ORANGE  TREE. 

K«w  delights,  in  sooth,  to  boast, 

At  the  most, 

Has  our  little  plain  retreat 
In  its  unpretending  street ; 
Save  a  bird  or  two,  a  lute, 
Pleasant  books  and  nooks  to  suit, 
And  three  pictures  on  the  wall — 

These  are  all. 

Yet  when  rigor  rules  the  year 

Far  and  near, 

Thou  shalt  sit  beside  my  hearth, 
And  its  music  and  its  mirth 
From  thy  memory  shall  beguile 
E'en  the  charms  of  that  dear  isle, 
Whose  far  enchantment  gleams 

On  thy  dreams. 

For  the  haunt  assigned  to  thee, 

It  shall  be 

Just  the  soothest,  sunniest  spot 
On  the  noonside  of  our  cot ; 
Where,  through  all  the  Winter  day, 
Little  prattling  ones  shall  play 
'Mid  the  leafy  shade  so  sweet, 

At  thy  feet. 

So  then,  cheerly  come  with  me, 
Exiled  tree  ! 


THE  ORANGE   TREE.  1 1  3 

And  beneath  my  modest  roof, 
Let  thy  greeting  be  a  proof, 
That  to  pity's  arms  and  store 
Lo,  the  peasant's  humble  door 
With  as  wide  a  welcome  swings 
As  a  king's  ! 


KUBLEH. 

LUMEN    ET   NUMEN. 

JHAT  beauty  smiles  from  cloudless  skies 

When  night  with  twinkling  lustre  gleams  ! 
Yet  lovelier  far,  to  these  fond  eyes, 

The  light  that  from  thy  casement  beams ! 

The  Persian  holds  the  East  divine, 
And  thither  bows  on  bended  knee  ; 

But  in  thy  chamber's  lighted  shrine 
A  dearer  kubleh  smiles  for  me. 

How  oft,  when  lated  and  forlorn, 

I've  faltered  on  my  darkling  way, 
That  casement,  like  the  glance  of  morn, 

Has  filled  the  midnight  vale  with  day  ! 

Oh,  fair  the  blush  of  orient  skies, 
And  lovely,  evening's  starry  gleams  ; 

But  dearer  far,  to  these  fond  eyes, 

The  light  that  from  thy  casement,  beams  ! 
114 


HANNAH  DUSTAN. 

(HORN  of  her  stars,  lone  midnight  broods 

O'er  Winter's  sullen  sky, 
Where  through  the  broad  New-England  woods 

The  stormy  blast  sweeps  by  ; 
/Vhile  from  the  mountain's  jagged  Avails 
The  frost-heaved  crag  in  thunder  falls, 

Far  echoing  to  the  night  ; 
Startling  the  red  fox  in  his  den, 
The  roe-buck  in  the  lowland  glen, 

The  eagle  on  the  height. 

Yet  though  no  welkin  beam  the  while 

Illume  that  gloomy  scene, 
Yon  flickering  watch-fire's  smoldering  pile 

Imparts  a  lurid  sheen  ; 
Where,  couched  around  its  genial  glow, 
Outstretched  upon  the  sheeted  snow 

Twelve  forest  chieftains  lie, 
Wrapped  in  the  brown  bear's  shaggy  fold, 
Their  long  knives  gleaming  keen  and  cold, 

As  gleams  the  serpent's  eye. 


I  1 6  HA  NNA  H  D  US  TA  N. 

They  heed  not  now  the  sullen  scowl 

Of  skies  so  bleak  and  drear — 
The  owl's  wild  screech,  the  wolf's  hoarse  howl, 

Fall  noteless  on  their  ear, 
As  there  they  sleep,  toil-worn  and  grim, 
With  belted  breast  and  scarry  limb 

Red  with  the  fresh  scalp's  flow, 
Won  when  the  white  foe's  roof-tree  fell 
With  fiery  crash  and  fiendish  yell 

And  shrieks  of  mortal  woe. 

And  who  is  She,  that  shivering  form, 

So  lorn  and  yet  so  fair, 
Like  some  spent  angel,  whom  the  storm 

Has  forced  to  shelter  there  ? 
Faint,  famished,  worn,  and  ghastly  pale, 
Her  dark  locks  waving  in  the  gale, 

She,  trembling,  stands  dismayed 
Amid  those  fierce  unfeeling  men, 
Like  fawn  that  to  the  panther's  den 

In  evil  hour  has  strayed. 

Erewhile  she  blessed  the  pilgrim's  cot 

With  love's  sequestered  joy — 
The  Eve  of  his  lone,  exiled  lot, 

The  mother  of  his  boy  ; 
So  like  his  sire  in  form  and  air, 
When  fondly  in  her  wreathed  hair 


HANNAH  DUSTAN.  1 1  / 

He  set  the  bridal  rose  ; 
But  now,  nor  home  nor  kin  to  bless, 
The  captive  of  the  merciless. 

She  treads  the  forest  snows. 

Still  slept  the  ruffian  band,  nor  stirred 

Amid  those  flickering  gleams, 
Save  when,  as  broke  some  muttered  word 

Upon  their  startled  dreams, 
Some  dark  hand  seized  the  bow  and  shaft, 
Or  clutched  the  belt-knife's  gory  haft, 

As  if  the  foe  were  nigh  ; 
But  soon  the  larum  thought  passed  o'er, 
And  sunk  the  lifted  arm  once  more, 

And  closed  the  glaring  eye. 

Softly  as  glides  the  mother  where 

Her  sleeping  babe  reclines, 
So  moved  that  lonely  captive  there t 

Beneath  the  moaning  pines  ; 
As  with  despair's  wild  throb  she  knelt, 
And  from  the  skimbering  sachem's  belt 

His  ruthless  axe  unloosed  ; 
Her  husband's  heart  had  stained  the  blade, 
And  to  the  haft,  by  one  soft  braid, 

Their  first-born's  scalp  was  noosed  ! 

Then,  as  one  armed  with  matchless  might 
And  heaven's  vicegerent  trust, 


1  I  8  HANNAH  D  USTAN, 

Sent  with  avenging  sword  to  smite 

The  guilty  to  the  dust ; 
She  drove  the  crimson  steel  amain 
Sheer  to  the  sleeping  murderer's  brain 

With  such  destroying  hand, 
That  when  her  fearful  task  was  done, 
Gory  and  gashed,  there  breathed  not  one 

Of  that  remorseless  band. 

O  woman  !  wont  in  sunny  hour 

At  thy  own  shade  to  start, 
Yet  when  life's  blackest  tempests  lower, 

High-soul'd  and  strong  of  heart ; 
If  once  that  mood  is  roused  by  shame, 
Spurned  love,  wrecked  hopes,  or  blighted  name, 

Thy  wronger  needs  beware  ; 
'Twere  safer  that  his  guilty  path 
Confront  the  whelp-robbed  tigress'  wrath, 

Than  thy  untold  despair. 


TO  THE  HILLS. 

bondman  of  the  pen, 
In  this  old  midurban  den, 
Where,  for  weary  months  intent, 
O'er  these  dismal  tomes  we've  bent 
Till  our  backs  are  well-nigh  grown 
To  the  rigidness  of  stone  ; 
In  an  atmosphere  replete 
With  all  odors  but  the  sweet, 
And  such  dissonance  uncouth 
That  the  deafest  cit,  forsooth, 
Oft  must  muse,  in  vain  surmise, 
Why  the  ears,  unlike  the  eyes, 
Have  not  facile  lids  to  close 
'Twixt  the  hearing  and  its  woes — 
Brother  Helot  of  the  mart, 
With  the  yearning,  homesick  heart 
For  green  Berkshire,  let's  away 
To  the  hills  one  blessed  day, 
Though  the  sore  bonds  sorer  strain 
When  they  have  us  fast  again  ! 
119 


120  TO   THE   HILLS. 

Ah,  just  think  what  careless  glee 
Waits  our  rural  vagrancy, 
When  the  truant  feet  once  more 
Kiss  the  dear  old  paths  of  yore  ! 
Think  of  those  white-clovered  leas, 
Murmurous  with  myriad  bees, 
Where  we've  mused  in  doubt  profound, 
Which  were  sweeter,  scent  or  sound  ? 
Think  of  arbors  draped  with  vines, 
Near  the  lake's  aeolian  pines, 
In  whose  dim  aisles  even  boys 
Feel  the  impertinence  of  noise, 
And  steal,  tiptoe,  as  in  fear 
Of  some  mystic  presence  near. 
Think  of  sauntering  once  more 
By  the  river's  willowy  shore, 
To  the  spot  where  Naiad  hands 
Broad  have  scooped  the  russet  sands, 
For  a  laver  brimmed  with  lymph 
Meet  for  daintiest  water  Nymph 
That  e'er  plashed  the  crystal  flood 
'Neath  the  white- armed  buttonwood  ! 
Doffing  there  our  city  gear, 
Starch  and  gravity  austere, 
We'll  show  urchins  thereaway, 
What  our  fellows  meant  by  "  play  " — 
Meant  by  power  of  lung  and  tongue, 
When  we  ancient  lads  were  young. 
Then,  with  freshened  step  and  mien, 
Ho  !  for  Ice  Glen's  weird  ravine, 


'JO    'J'J/h    J/ILLS.  121 

Where  the  mountain,  wrenched  apart, 

Scarcely  hides  his  mighty  heart. 

There,  in  bastions  jagged  and  gray, 

Winter  holds  the  sun  at  bay  ; 

And  in  Arctic  panoply, 

Mocks  all  Summer's  archery. 

How  we'll  take  the  Oread's  eyes 

With  a  marvelous  surprise, 

As,  in  snowball  range  point-blank, 

Each  upon  his  guarded  bank 

Plies  projectiles  to  and  fro, 

Till  his  cheeks  are  all  aglow, 

And  his  pelted  garb  is  seen 

White  as  miller's  gabardine  ! 

Brother  bondman  of  the  pen, 
In  this  Babel-shaming  den, 
Let  us  steal  ourselves  away 
To  the  hills  one  glorious  day, 
Though  the  gyves  should  sorer  strain 
When  they  have  us  fast  again  ! 


THE    WONDER    THAT    MIGHT    HAVE 
BEEN. 

JRUCE  of  Kinnaird  could   scarce  repress  the 

smile 
That    twitched    the    bearded     ambush    of     his 

mouth, 
When,  in  his  quest  of  the  mysterious  Nile, 

Amid  the  perilous  wilds  of  the  swart  South, 
An  old  man  told  him,  with  a  grave  surprise, 

Which  made  his  childlike  wonder  almost  grand, 
How,  in  his  youth,  there  fell  from  out  the  skies 

A  feathery  whiteness  over  all  their  land — 
A  strange,  soft,  spotless  something,  pure  as  light, 
For   which    their   questioned    language    had    no 

name  ; 
That  shone  and  sparkled  for  a  day  and  night, 

Then  vanished  all  as  weirdly  as -it  came  ; 
Leaving  no  vestige,  gleam,  or  hue,  or  scent, 

On  the  round  hills  or  in  the  purple  air, 
To  certify  their  mute  bewilderment 

That  such  a  presence  had  indeed  been  there. 

122 


THE   WONDER.  12$ 

Yet,  lady,  who  that  sees,  as  here  revealed, 

The  constellated  glories  of  the  Snow, 
From  human  vision  hopelessly  concealed 

Till  art  their  hidden  splendor  deigns  to  show, 
Can  doubt  if,  when  his  native  banks  and  braes 

The   bronzed    and    weary    Northman  trod  once 

more, 
Your  fairy  lens  had  shown  his  dazzled  gaze 

The  whole  broad   landscape   blazoned  o'er  and 

o'er 
With  crystal  Stars — ay,  who  can  doubt  that  he, 

Who  at  the  simple  Abyssinian  smiled, 
Would,  at  the  sight  of  this  strange  galaxy, 

Himself  have  wondered  like  a  little  child  ! 


CRADLE  COVERLET. 


INSCRIPTION  : — FOR  A  CRADLE  COVERLET  OF  BRILLIANT 
COLORS,  EMBROIDERED  BY  A  VENERABLE  LADY  FOR  A  FAIR 
IN  AID  OF  THE  SANITARY  COMMISSION. 

jjOWED  by  the  weight  of  fourscore  years, 

And  blinded  by  her  widow's  tears, 
The  daughter  of  a  patriot  sire 
This  earnest  sends  of  fond  desire 
Her  loving-kindness  to  attest 
For  brothers,  stretched  in  sore  unrest 
Along  the  battle's  crimson  path 
When  the  wild  storm  has  spent  its  wrath. 
She  has  done  what  she  could — how  few 
Have  better  done,  may  better  do, 
As  viewed  by  Him  in  whose  clear  sight 
The  offering  of  the  widow's  mite 
Appeared  more  precious,  being  hers, 
Than  gifts  of  grandest  almoners. 

And  Pity  asks,  with  pleading  tone  : 
Who'll  make  the  hallowed  prize  his  own  ? 
124 


CRADLE  COVERLET.  12$ 

For  the  dear  sake  of  those  who  pine 
With  bitter  wounds,  that  thou  and  thine, 
Walled  by  their  breasts,  might  never  feel 
The  fierce  edge  of  the  traitors'  steel. 

O  wedded  pair  !  whose  cradled  love 

Charms  like  a  presence  from  above, 

What  brighter  smiles  your  eyes  shall  trace 

Upon  the  slumbering  cherub's  face 

If,  when  the  angels  gather  near 

To  whisper  in  his  dreaming  ear 

The  dear  Christ's  tender  benison, 

They  mark  the  sinless  little  one 

Invested  in  these  tissued  dyes 

Lent  from  their  own  resplendent  skies  ! 


THE  FALCON  AND  DOVE. 


]ELL  me,  friend,  the  secret  meaning 
Of  this  sculptured  riddle,  pray  ; 
Quoth  I  to  a  sexton  leaning 
On  a  tomb  at  shut  of  day. 

Open,  high  embossed,  was  lying 

Heaven's  blest  Book  of  hope  and  love  ; 

And  a  marble  falcon  flying 
As  in  terror  from  a  dove. 

"  Sir,"  replied  the  sexton  hoary, 

Courteously  as  friend  to  friend, 

"  'Tis  a  strange  and  mournful  story, 

Weird  and  wondrous  to  the  end. 

"  Where  yon  dome-like  hill  upswelling, 

Proudly  lifts  its  silvan  crown, 
Lowers  an  outlaw's  haunted  dwelling, 
Shunned  alike  by  thorp  and  town. 
126 


THE  FALCON  AND  DOVE.  1 

"  Until  passion's  stress  was  over, 

And  his  sated  soul  craved  ease, 
He  had  been  a  desperate  rover, 

Coursing  all  the  round  world's  seas. 

"  Wealth  he  brought  at  his  returning, 

Gold  and  gems  in  rare  excess  ; 
But  with  whom  and  whence  the  earning, 
Few  so  dull  as  not  to  guess. 

"  Swart,  and  scarred,  and  grim  of  bearing, 

Dealt  he,  flash-like,  oath  or  sneer — 
Every  word  and  look  declaring 
Traits  that  mark  the  buccaneer. 

"  And  there  came  a  gentle  creature 

To  this  mountain  vale  with  him  ; 
Grief  in  every  pallid  feature, 
Pain  in  every  feeble  limb. 

"  Son  he  seemed,  though  faint  the  semblance 

To  that  dark  and  sullen  man  ; 
Vague  as  Ariel's  resemblance 
To  the  earth-born  Caliban. 

*'  Ne'er  at  parting,  nor  at  meeting 

After  weary  task  well  done, 
Fond  farewell  or  kindly  greeting 
Passed  from  scowling  sire  to  son  : 


128  THE  FALCON  AND   DOVE. 

"  Ne'er  with  keenest  aggravation, 

In  the  lull  of  stormy  ire, 
Words  of  soft  expostulation 

Passed  from  patient  son  to  sire  : 

"  As  the  wife  had  borne,  while  living, 

All  his  insults,  mute  and  mild  ; 
So,  all  bearing,  all  forgiving, 
Suffered  on  the  silent  child. 

"  Wherefore  should  a  sire  be  wreaking 

Outrage  on  an  orphan  son  ? 
Why,  at  every  moment,  seeking 
Anguish  for  his  only  one  ? 

'  Serpent  tongues  had  stung  his  bosom 
With  the  rankling  lie  malign, — 

*  What  thou  deem'st  thy  being's  blossom, 
Is  no  real  germ  of  thine  !  ' 

"  Then  did  Hope's  enchanted  palace 

Fall  in  ruins,  wall  on  wall  ; 
Then  was  love's  paternal  chalice 

Brimmed  with  hate's  envenomed  gall  ; 

"  And  how  oft,  with  aim  abhorrent, 

Called  he,  now,  to  hunt  the  stag  ! 
Leading  o'er  the  swirling  torrent, 
And  along  the  dizzy  crag  ; 


THE  FALCON  AND  DOVE.  1 29 

"  To  his  weary  victim  shouting, 

When  he  faltered  mid  the  snares  : 
'  Coward  !     Fear  grows  bold  by  flouting — 
Danger  strengthens  whom  it  spares  ! ' 

"  But  a  form,  unseen,  was  near  him 

Ever  on  his  perilled  way, 
O'er  the  dreadful  pass  to  cheer  him, 

On  the  giddy  steep  to  stay. 

"  Oft  in  dreams  it  rose  before  him, 

Visibly,  a  snow-white  Dove  ; 
And  through  swooping  Falcons  bore  him 
To  a  land  of  peace  and  love. 

"  Foiled  in  all  his  fiendish  scheming, 

Shrieked  the  sire  with  knitted  brow 
Wild  as  tortured  guilt  in  dreaming  : 
'  Prince  of  Darkness,  aid  me  now  ! 

"  *  Take  my  broad  fields  black  with  cattle  \ 

Take  my  glittering  hoards  diverse — 
All  I've  wrung  from  toil  and  battle — 
Rid  me  of  this  living  curse  !  ' 

"  Lo,  a  flash  and  crash  of  thunder 
Whelm  the  bitter  words  apace  ; 
And  a  Shape  of  startling  wonder 
Glooms  before  him,  face  to  face. 


130  THE  FALCON  AND  DOVE. 

"  '  Lost,'  it  scowled,  i  is  all  such  suasion  ! — 

Gold  nor  gems  my  power  control — 
These  are  mortals'  bright  temptation  ; 
Mine,  a  brighter  lure,  the  soul  : 

"  *  Not  thy  soul,  poor  wretch,  that  pratest 

Of  thy  herded  lands  and  pelf, 
But  the  soul  of  him  thou  hatest — 
Thine  is  coming  of  itself  ! 

"  '  Where  thy  new-sown  fields  are  greening, 

Send  him  forth  at  blush  of  day, 
Charged,  with  threats  of  mortal  meaning, 
Keep  the  wasting  fowls  at  bay  !  ' 

"  '  Be  it  so,'  the  father  muttered  ; 
And,  ere  echo's  nimble  tone 
Half  the  fiat  had  reuttered, 
Pale  and  grim  he  stood  alone. 

"  Forth  upon  his  fated  mission 

Fared  the  friendless  child  forlorn, 
Menaced  with  assured  perdition, 
If  he  failed  to  ward  the  corn. 

"  Vain,  alas,  was  his  endeavor 
To  obey  the  dire  behest ; 
For  the  winged  marauders  never 
Left  him  briefest  space  for  rest ! 


THE  FALCON  AND  DOVE. 

"  When  he  chased  them  from  the  valley, 
Swarmed  they  on  the  upland  grain  ; 
Soon,  when  frighted  thence,  to  rally 
In  the  vale's  green  lap  again. 

"  Still,  with  patient  zeal,  unshaken 
He  pursued  his  endless  round, 
Till  at  last  of  strength  forsaken, 

Dropped  he,  swooning,  to  the  ground. 

"  Lo,  a  strange  form  now  beside  him, 
And  a  white  dove  hovering  near  ! 
This,  with  yearning  anguish  eyed  him, 
That,  with  ill-dissembled  leer. 

"  Then  with  unabashed  assertion, 
False  as  foul,  the  glozer  said  : 

'  Long  I've  marked  thy  vain  exertion, 
And  am  come  to  bring  thee  aid. 

"  '  But  as  meed  of  faithful  merit, 

Wheri  thy  life's  last  moment  dies, 
Let  me,  for  my  own,  inherit 

That  which  o'er  the  threshold  flies  !  ' 

"  Sighed  the  youth  :    '  Kind  sir,  that  taskest 

Time  and  strength  to  succor  me  ; 
Though  I  wist  not  what  thou  askest, 
Be  it  thine  whate'er  it  be  !  ' 


132  THE  FALCON  AND  DOVE. 

"  Sudden  as  an  aspen's  tremblance, 

Changed  the  Tempter  form  and  face, 
And  a  coal-black  Falcon's  semblance 
Dusked  the  sunlight  in  his  place. 

"  Prince  of  air  and  all  its  minions, 

As  of  demon  realms  below, 
Up  he  shot  on  whirring  pinions, 
Swift  as  arrow  from  the  bow. 

"  On  he  swept  with  fiery  keenness, 
Now  in  tangent,  now  in  whirl  ; 
Till  o'er  all  the  sprouting  greenness 
Hovered  throstle,  crow  nor  merle. 

"  Then  young  Eve  with  rosy  features, 

Bade  the  child  no  longer  stay  ; 
And  her  fire-flies'  fairy  meteors 
Homeward  lit  his  lonely  way. 

' '  Laggard  !  '  cried  the  execrator, 
'  Why  so  late  returned,  I  ask — 
Have  you  truant  played  or  traitor  ? 

Skulked,  or  shirked  your  bidden  task  ? ' 

"  '  No,  my  father  ;  watched  I  truly  ; 

Watched  and  strove  to  guard  the  grain  ; 
But  thy  quest  to  answer  duly, 
All  my  strivings  were  in  vain, 


THE   FALCON  AND  DOVE,  133 

"  '  Till  a  stranger  kind  befriending, 
Sought  me  at  the  noon  of  day, 
And  on  raven  wings  ascending, 
Chased  the  hungry  hordes  away.' 

"  *  Imp,  with  demon  malice  gifted, 
Take  a  tithe  of  thy  unworth  '  ' 
And  the  tyrant's  arm  uplifted 
Smote  the  guiltless  to  the  earth. 

"  Like  the  bloodroot's  snowy  blossom 

Dabbled  in  its  crimson  flood, 
Lo,  the  pallid  brow  and  bosom 

Weltering  in  their  own  warm  blood  ! 

"  On  the  morrow,  lone  and  dying, 

Gazed  the  child  with  wondering  fear, 
On  a  pall  and  coffin  lying 
At  his  bedside  on  a  bier. 

"  Glaring-eyes,  the  while,  were  keeping 

Watch  within  the  open  door, 
And  a  fiend-like  shadow  sleeping 
Grimly  on  the  sunny  floor. 

"  Suddenly  the  watcher  started, 

Shape  and  shadow  fled  amain, 
As  the  White  Dove  weirdly  darted 
Inward  through  the  lifted  pane. 


134  .  THE  FALCON  AND  DOVE. 

"  Round  she  flitted,  moaning  ever  : 
'  Who  of  earth  can  sum  thy  loss, 
If,  when  soul  from  body  sever, 
Thine  yon  fatal  threshold  cross  ? ' 

"  Now  his  promise  to  the  stranger, 

When  he  paltered  at  his  side, 
Woke  the  sufferer  to  the  danger 
By  these  awful  words  implied  ; 

'  And  he  cried  with  wild  endearment  : 

'  Hear  me  !  save  me,  sexton  !  hear  ! 
Fold  me  in  my  ready  cerement, 
Lay  me  on  my  waiting  bier  ! 

* '  O'er  the  dreadful  threshold  bear  me 

Forth  beneath  the  blessed  sky  ; 
Let  not — oh,  for  mercy,  spare  me  ! 
Life  and  soul  together  die  ! ' 

"  Cried  the  ruffian  murderer  :  "  Never  ! 

Hush  thy  mongrel,  maundering  breath  ! 
May  thy  life  and  soul  forever 
Perish  utterly  in  death  !  ' 

"  Backward  on  his  couch  astounded, 

Fell  the  child  in  mortal  fear  ; 
As  if  breaking  heart-strings  sounded 
Knell-like  in  his  dying  ear. 


THE  FALCON  AND   DOVE.  135 

"  Here  my  waiting  pages  entered  ; 

And,  despite  threats,  curses  wild, 
All  our  fondest  cares  we  centered 
On  the  friendless,  hopeless  child. 

"  Tenderly  we  raised  and  laid  him 

In  his  coffin  on  the  bier, 
Tenderly  we  thence  conveyed  him 
To  the  green  lawn  smiling  near. 

"  There,  as  softer  grew  his  breathing, 

Faintly  dawned  a  hectic  smile, 
O'er  the  woful  pallor  wreathing 
Flush  of  inward  peace  the  while. 

• 
"  Then  before  his  placid  vision, 

Oped  we  clear  the  Book  of  Truth, 
Where  the  Saviour's  sweet  decision 
Spake  these  words  of  tenderest  ruth ; 

"  Saying  :  '  Suffer,  unforbidden, 
"  Little  ones  to  come  to  me  ; 
For  in  such,  howe'er  ye've  chidden, 
Earth  finds  heaven's  best  simile.' 

"  Sudden  now  the  light  was  parted 

By  a  shadow  from  above, 
As  the  coal-black  Falcon  darted, 
Bolt-like,  at  the  watchful  Dove ; 


I  3  6  THE  FALCON  AND    DOVE. 

"  While,  his  shrouded  form  half  raising, 

Like  the  widow's  son  of  Nain, 
Sat  the  child,  intently  gazing 
On  the  eerie,  eager  twain. 

"  Now,  aloft,  they  glanced  and  grappled, 

Now  beneath  the  bier  they  met, 
Till  the  lawn  around  was  dappled 
With  their  plumes  of  white  and  jet. 

"  Twice  the  worsted  Dove  was  routed, 

Twice  her  fiendish  foe  she  fled  ; 
And  the  gloating  ruffian  shouted  : 
'  Bravely,  Falcon,  hast  thou  sped  !  ' 

<c*Braver  yet  is  love's  endurance — 

Love  in  faith's  proof  armor  braced  ; 
I  replied,  with  fond  assurance  : 
'  Lo,  the  chaser  now  the  chased  !  ' 

"  Swift  through  cloudland's  blue  dominion 
.     Fled  the  Falcon,  round  and  round,     - 
Till  the  white  Dove's  swooping  pinion 
Dashed  him,  cowering,  to  the  ground. 

"  Down  he  vanished,  as  asunder 

Gloomed  the  ebon  jaws  of  night ; 
And  a  deafening  shout  of  thunder 
Shook  the  mountains  at  the  right ; 


THE  FALCON  AND   DOVE.  137 

"  Whence  a  hollow  voice  came  booming  : 

'  Let  the  brat  escape  my  lure  ; 
Since  the  sire  awaits  my  dooming, 
Hither  following,  soon  and  sure  !  ' 

"  As  \ye  homeward  thence  were  wending, 

In  the  calm  bright  skies  above, 
Saw  we,  side  by  side  ascending, 

Dovelet  white  and  snow-white  Dove  ! 


IN    MEMORIAM. 


|N  my  young  days  a  traveled  stranger  chanced 

To  visit  Berkshire,  in  his  earnest  quest 
Of  that  arcadian  heritage,  which  Hope, 
With  rosy  finger  pointing,  tells  each  heart 
Awaits  it  surely  in  the  near  beyond  ! 
The  fairest  scenes  whereon  the  morning  smiles 
With  lingering  gaze  in  many  an  orient  land, 
Had  set  their  soft  enchantments  to  his  eye, 
And  whispered,  "  Seek  no  farther  :  "  yet  he  passed 
Still  onward,  till  his  feet  at  last  were  stayed 
Within  the  magic  circle  of  these  hills. 
Here  was  the  Eden  he  had  sought  so  long  ! 
Here  had  his  dream  come  true,  and  never  more 
Could  fancy  shake  his  faith,  that  all  the  vales 
Of  the  wide  world  could  boast  no  peer  to  this  ! 
And  here,  like  one  imparadised,  his  life, 
Exempt  from  idle  longings  and  replete 
With  daily  satisfactions,  thenceforth  lapsed 
As  gently  as  a  placid  stream  that  steals 
O'er  smoothest  sands  to  its  appointed  bourne. 
138 


IN  MEMORIAM.  139 

If  such  the  local  spell  on  sense  and  soul 
Of  this  grave  stranger,  that  he  gave  himself 
A  willing  captive  to  these  alien  scenes, 
And  here  would  live,  here  die  ;  impassive,  deaf 
To  all  the  pleadings,  all  the  memories 
That  woo  the  wanderer  to  his  native  land  ; 
Were  it  not  strange  that  they,  whose  eyes  had  gazed 
From  childhood  on  these  charms  of  hill  and  vale, 
Could  ever  leave  them  to  return  no  more  ? 
Yet,  to  my  thought,  your  heroes'  absence  seems 
Less  strange  than  would  their  presence  here  to-day ; 
Had  they  not  heard,  in  duty's  still  small  voice, 
The  voice  of  God  and  country,  and  at  once 
Wrenched  loose  their  hearts  from  every  dearest  tie, 
And  marched  right  onward,  even  unto  death  ? 
How  could  they  falter  when,  that  April  morn, 
The  South  wind  whispered  :  "  War  is  in  the  land  ! 
I  heard  the  thunder  of  his  iron  tramp  ; 
Saw  the  keen  flash  of  his  relentless  steel 
Affright  the  white-winged  Peace  from  out  her  palms  ; 
And  fled  his  frenzied  presence,  as  he  strode, 
Dark  frowning,  Northward,  and  with  lips  ablaze 
Fulmined  his  fierce  anathemas  on  all. 
Forewarned,  confront  him  far  off,  ere  he  fall 
Fullswing,  resistless,  on  yourselves  and  yours  !  " 

Then,  as  the  rattling  larum  of  the  drum 
Rolled    through    these    startled    vales,    uprose    the 
might 


140  IN  MEMORIAM. 

Of  Berkshire's  martial  manhood,  and  went  forth 
With  stern  face  set  as  flint  against  the  foe  ; 
Despite  the  clinging  of  impassioned  arms, 
The  pressure  and  the  pleading  of  pale  lips, 
Whose  farewells  seemed  the  knell  of  Hope  herself. 

And  ah  !  too  truly,  as  the  vacant  seat 
By  hearth  and  board  of  lonely  cottages 
And  social  village  mansions,  sadly  tells  ! 
As  tells  more  sadly  still,  the  tmheaved  turf 
Whence  springs  yon  sacred  column — turf  forlorn, 
That    while    its    verdure    wraps    earth's    common 

sands, 

It  may  not  fold  your  martyrs'  precious  dust. 
No  eye  but  that  which  marks  the  sparrow's  fall, 
Saw  theirs,  perchance,  or  ever  shall  discern 
The  places  hallowed  by  their  martial  dust. 
On  lonely  picket-guard  beneath  the  stars, 
Or  in  the  starless  watch  of  leaguered  camps 
Impalled  in  double  gloom  of  night  and  storm, 
They  fell  unseen  ;  or  in  the  battle-cloud 
That  dusks  the  blazing  splendor  of  the  noon, 
Passed  from  their  comrades'  sight,  as  to  and  fro, 
Whelming  or  whelmed,  the  swaying  legions  surged  ; 
Or,    fate's    worst    fate,    were    swept    to    nameless 

graves 
From  wards  whose  balms  were  blasphemies,  whose 

shrift, 
Curses  gnashed  fiercely  into  dying  ears  : 


IN  ME  MORI  A  M.  141 

Or  tumbreled  forth  from  fiendish  prison  hells, 
Gaunt,  hunger-bitten  skeletons,  where  Death, 
In  all  his  horrors,  less  abhorrent  seemed, 
Than  had  the  ghastly  life  that  perished  there. 

Ah,  friends  !  it  were  a  mournful  joy  indeed, 
Had  fate  but  granted  to  your  yearning  hearts 
The  dear,  disjewelled  caskets,  though  no  more 
To  beam  with  light  unknown  to  sun  or  star. 
How  fondly  had  ye  welcomed  even  these  ! 
How  tenderly  consigned  them  to  the  rest 
Of  yon  still  chambers  of  the  funeral  sands  ; 
And  felt  their  gloom  illumined  with  the  hope 
That  there  your  relics  would  be  laid  with  theirs 
For  earliest  recognition,  face  to  face — 
Face  to  face  smiling  with  immortal  smiles  ! 

But    though    ye   know  not    where    the    loved  ones 

sleep, 

On  dreary  downs  or  sunny  inland  glades, 
By  marge  of  lone  lagoon  or  mountain  stream, 
Or  in  the  dusk  of  ever-moaning  pines  ; 
Know  that,  wher'er  it  be,  their  rest  is  sweet ; 
Their  couch  assured  of  the  great  Mother's  care. 
Though  there  no  human  eye  e'er  drop  a  tear  ; 
No  hand  bring  flowers  or  germ  of  future   flowers  ; 
She,  at  whose  all-sustaining  breast  were  nursed 
These  Abels,  murdered  by  fraternal  hate 
At  duty's  very  altar,  shall  keep  green, 


I42  IN  MEMORIA M, 

With  tempered  largess  of  her  dews  and  rains, 
The  turf  that  shelters  their  uncoffined  dust  ; 
Or,  when  the  year's  disheveled  tresses  lie 
Unsightly  there,  shroud  all  in  spotless  snows  ! 

So,  while  to  these  maternal  ministries 

Sadly  we  leave  the  unreturning  brave 

Where  the  red  battle  left  them  stark  and  coli  ; 

Be  ours  the  solace  that  they  nobly  died, 

As  ours  the  sacred  duty  to  make  sure 

Their  martyrdom  shall  not  have  been  in  vain  ! 


BRIDEGROOM  TO  BRIDE. 

IMBARKED  at  last,  dear  trustful  wife, 

Before  us,  lo  !  the  voyage  of  life, 
With  all  the  hopes,  and  doubts,  and  fears, 
That  hover  round  our  pilgrim  years  ! 
Yet,  cheered  with  happy  auspices 
And  fondest  "  Benedicites," 
Let  us  serenely,  side  by  side, 
Confront  the  dim  and  undescried. 

O  Sea  !  that  spread'st  so  smoothly  now 
Thy  azure  fields  before  our  prow, 
We  know  how  soon  the  storm  may  chase 
The  shimmering  dimples  from  thy  face, 
And  even  'mid  thy  sunniest  isles, 
Supplant  with  frowns  thy  wonted  smiles. 
Yet,  knowing  this,  we  will  not  fear 
Or  storm  or  peril,  far  or  near  ; 
Sure  in  our  faith,  oh,  faithless  sea, 
That  howsoe'er  our  bark  may  be 
Tossed  by  thy  waves'  tempestuous  will, 
They  must  obey  His  "  Peace,  be  still  !  " 
M3 


HARD-HANDS'  PETITION. 

IKE  chance  to  toil  is  all  we  ask  ; 

O  brothers,  only  this  ! 
No  matter  what  or  where  the  task, 
It  will  not  come  amiss. 

The  lesser  load  or  lighter  strain, 

We  stand  not  to  discuss — 
The  task  may  go  against  the  grain, 

And  yet  be  dear  to  us. 

Ungloved,  the  roughest  thole  we  grasp, 
Nor  burr,  nor  prickle  heed  ; 

The  nettle  in  our  horny  clasp 
Is  but  a  silken  weed. 

We  rather  earn  the  crust  we're  fed, 

In  fens  or  squalid  slums  ; 
Than  idle  break  the  beggar's  bread, 

Or  twirl  the  pauper's  thumbs. 

Then  grant  the  earnest  toil  we  ask, 

Nor  long  the  boon  defer — 
Who  gives  the  poor  an  honest  task, 

Is  God's  best  almoner  ! 
144 


NEVER  FEAR  ! 

|N  the  journey  of  life  never  falter  nor  fear, 
Though  danger  may  threaten  an  ambush  of 

woes  ; 
If  plainly  the  pathway  of  duty  appear, 

Right   on  !    though   it   lead   through   a   forest   of 
foes. 

The  clouds  that  loom  up  in  the  distance  so  cold, 
Are  blessings  there  falling  in  silvery  showers  ; 

And  the  vales  far  away,  now  so  drear  to  behold, 
Will  change,  as  you  near  them,  to  vistas  of  flowers. 

Yet  should  welkin   and  landscape  but  deepen  the 
gloom 

They  wore  at  the  first,  as  the  distant  you  win,— 
Even  then,  friend,  shall  Hope,  like  the  firefly,  illume 

The  gloom  of  the  outward  with  beams  from  within. 

And  ponder  not  solely  of  Self  as  you  go, 

For  thousands,  your  brothers,  move  on  by  your 
side  ; 

145 


146  NEVER  FEAR  ! 

Have  a  smile  for  their  gladness,  a  sigh  for  their  woe, 
A  shame  in  their  weakness,  a  pride  in  their  pride. 

Lend  a  hand  to  the  feeble  that  totters  to  fall  ; 
Speak    cheer   to    the    weary,    o'erburdened   with 

care  ; 

From  youth's  eager  lip  snatch  the  chalice  of  gall ; 
From    beauty's    charmed     footfall,    the    myrtle- 
wreathed  snare.  " 

Let  us  strive,  though  of  dust  unto  dust  to  return, 
As  the  flower  to  the  sod  whence  it  sprang  to  the 
day, 

That  all  yet  to  traverse  life's  desert,  may  learn 
Our  course  by  the  roses  we  left  on  the  way. 

Though  rugged   the    pathway    and    darkened    the 

goal, 
With   hope    for    the    future    and   conscience   the 

past, 

Never  fear,  never  doubt  in  the  depths  of  the  soul, 
That,  spite  of  fate,  all  will  be  well  at  the  last  ! 


TO  A  FUNERAL  WREATH. 

snow-white    Wreath  !    that    graced    but 

now 

Our  dear  Lucinda's  shrouded  rest 
Not  fairer  than  her  marble  brow, 

Nor  purer  than  her  stainless  breast — 
Would  that  thy  flowers,  so  sacred  made 

By  that  chaste  shrine  whereon  they  lay, 
In  holier  beauty  thus  arrayed, 
Might  never  feel  nor  fear  decay  ! 

But,  no,  alas  !  though  tears  like  rain 

Upon  thy  blossomed  circlet  fall, 
Love's  fondest  tribute  were  in  vain 

To  stay  the  blight  that  steals  en  all  ! 
Admonished  by  that  mortal  shrine, 

How  could  we  for  a  moment  trust 
That  happier  fate  might  yet  be  thine, 

Than  hers — our  dearest's — DUST  TO  DUST  ! 

Nay,  were  the  magic  virtue  ours, 

Oh,  snow-white  Wreath,  so  freshly  blown  ! 


148  TO  A  FUNERAL   WREATH. 

To  change  thy  frail  memorial  flowers 
To  kindred  forms  of  Parian  stone  ; 

Amid  our  world  of  cypress  glooms, 
Where  life  strives  vainly  with  decay  ; 

Alas,  even  these  marmoreal  blooms, 
With  crumbling  years  must  pass  away  ! 

But  thanks,  dear  friends,  that  when  her  feet 

Crossed  the  Dark  Stream  that  waits  for  ours, 
The  dear  one  left  our  memories  sweet 

With  love's  imperishable  flowers- 
Flowers  of  a  soul  whose  happiness 

Consummate  bloomed  in  grateful  eyes  ; 
Whose  constant  thought  was  how  to  bless, 

Whate'er  the  stern  self-sacrifice  ! 


CENTRAL  PARK. 

|F  all  the  gracious  deities 

Ascribed  of  old  to  land  or  sea, 
The  god  of  Metes  and  Boundaries 

Henceforth  shall  be  extolled  by  me  ! 
For  him  I'll  choose  the  fondest  name 

The  Muse  in  happiest  mood  can  frame  ; 
And  round  it  wreathe,  in  grateful  lays, 

Her  choicest  flowers  of  love  and  praise. 

For  when  the  Commerce  of  the  West, 

Her  Empire  mart  majestic  piled, 
Nor  recked  how  soon  she  thence  might  wrest 

The  last  green  rood  where  Nature  smiled  ; 
Lord  Terminus,  at  once  obeyed, 

The  spoiler's  march  thus  sternly  stayed  : 
"  Behold  thy  utmost  bounds  at  last — 

Thus  far,  no  farther,  shalt  thou  blast  ! 

"  On  all  sides  round  this  sacred  pale, 
Be  thine  to  ravage  as  of  yore — 
To  lop  the  hill,  to  whelm  the  vale, 
And  stifle  all,  from  shore  to  shore, 
149 


I  5°  CENTRAL  PARK. 

With  stately  halls  where  anxious  pride 
But  dreams  the  peace  to  pomp  denied  ; 

Or  slums,  whose  horrors  well  may  crave, 
For  blest  surcease,  the  pauper's  grave  ! 

"  But  all  within  this  ample  bound, 

This  central  sweep  of  lawn  and  lea, 
Henceforth  is  consecrated  ground 

Till  earth  herself  shall  cease  to  be. 
No  blast  shall  rend  its  living  rock  ; 

No  rumbling  wain  its  echoes  shock ; 
Nor  sound  of  hammer,  trowel,  plane, 

Its  silvan  sanctities  profane  ! 

"  Let  no  vain  schemer  dare  deface 

Creation's  master-touches  here, 
But  Nature's  every  gift  and  grace 

In  all  their  virgin  charms  appear  ; 
Save  where  congenial  taste  may  serve 

To  teach  the  stream  a  lovelier  curve, 
Or  path  a  happier  course  to  choose 

Where  beauty  veils  still  fairer  views. 

"  No  cruel  act,  no  ribald  speech, 

These  peaceful  shades  shall  e'er  attest — 
Within  the  schoolboy's  easy  reach 

The  bird  shall  build  and  brood  her  nest ; 
Nor  shall  the  fawn  to  covert  fly, 

When  merriest  groups  go  laughing  by  ; 


CENTRAL  PARK. 

But  fearless  in  the  wayside  grass, 
Behold  the  jocund  wonder  pass. 

"  The  turf  shall  teem  with  fairest  flowers, 

E'er  brought  by  guardians  from  the  skies 
To  cheer  their  sublunary  hours 

With  bloom  and  breath  of  paradise  ; 
While  murmuring  streams  and  tuneful  birds, 

And  soft  winds  sweet  with  lovers'  words, 
And  music's,  sculpture's  charms  unite 

To  thrill  all  bosoms  with  delight. 

''What  various  forms  of  urban  life 

Of  every  age,  and  sex,  and  sphere, 
Shall  daily  steal  from  toil  and  strife, 

To  find  lost  Eden's  blessings  here  ; 
To  breathe  large  breath  of  balmy  air  ; 

Meet  health  and  beauty  everywhere  ; 
And  feel  a  tingling  rapture  dart, 

In  every  pulse  of  Nature's  heart  ! 

"  The  noblest  feast  to  mortals  known, 

Is  spread  not  for  the  palate's  slaves— 
'  Man  shall  not  live  by  bread  alone  ;  ' 

His  soul  diviner  nurture  craves  ; 
And  here,  in  these  serene  retreats, 

It  shall  not  lack  abundant  sweets 
In  every  sight,  and  scent,  and  sound — 

Pure  manna  mantling  all  around  !  " 


TO  A  MINIATURE. 

|HE  pictured  face  still  wears  the  charm 

Her  real  presence  used  to  wear, 
When,  circled  by  my  loyal  arm, 
She  let  me  gaze  enchanted  there. 

But  since  no  more  with  dimpled  wiles, 
She  deigns  my  fondness  to  betray  ; 

Why  cherish  these  unchanging  smiles, 
Whose  fickle  types  have  passed  away  ? 

A  dearer  arm  now  circles  her  ; 

Her  beauty  wiles  a  dearer  heart — 
Ah  !  lost  love's  vain  remembrancer  ! 

'Tis  time  for  thee  and  me  to  part. 

Go,  then  !  nor  shall  resentment  find 
A  harsher  wish  to  send  with  thee, 

Than  that  thy  presence  may  remind 
How  fondly  once  she  smiled  on  me  ! 
152 


TO  MEMORY  DEAR. 

[HERE'S    not    a   common    pebble  that    hath 

been 

For  long  a  daily  presence  in  our  sight, 
But  memory  values,  when  no  longer  seen, 
As  it  had  been  a  very  chrysolite. 

No  little  cherished  flower  of  plainest  dyes 
Eludes  our  wonted  smile  and  disappears, 
Whose  absence  is  not  marked  with  wistful  sighs, 
Or,  haply,  even  with  the  dew  of  tears. 

But  O  the  void  of  a  beloved  face, 

That  dearer  grew  with  every  passing  hour, 

For  some  new  aspect  of  angelic  grace, 

Some  sweeter  bloom  of  love's  incarnate  flower  ! 


TO  ELIZABETH  ON  HER  SECOND  BIRTH- 
DAY. 


bud  of  vernal  life, 
Watched  with  smiles  and  tears  ! 
Changing  with  the  fitful  strife 

Of  love's  hopes  and  fears  — 
Hopes  that,  with  enchanting  eyes, 
Whisper  of  elysian  skies, 
And  a  sunny  path,  which  lies 

Through  a  world  of  bloom  ; 
Fears  that  frown  in  hope's  despite, 
Muttering  wild  of  storm  and  night, 
And  the  swift  untimely  blight 

Of  an  early  tomb  ! 

Hope  still  speaks  thy  weal  to  Fear, 

Fear  to  Hope  thy  woe  ; 
Which  will  prove  the  wiser  seer, 

Time  alone  can  show  : 
I  have  learned  that  both  may  be 
Prophets  false  of  destiny, 


TO  ELIZA  BE  TH.  I  5  5 

Seeing  what  no  ken  can  see 

In  life's  forward  sky  ; 
But,  as  onward  still  we  grope, 
Let  us  fondly  trust  that  Hope 
Hath  thy  fate's  dim  horoscope 

Read  with  truer  eye. 

Yet  in  such  a  changing  scene, 

Though  thy  lot  be  bright, 
Clouds  shall  frequent  pass,  I  ween, 

O'er  thy  spirit's  light  : 
Maiden  prime  will  bring  its  snares  ; 
Riper  years  their  matron  cares  ; 
Time  at  broadcast  scatters  tares 

Where  he  sows  the  flowers  ; 
And  in  spite  of  our  endeavor 
Loathed  from  lovely  to  dissever, 
Side  by  side  they  twine,  and  ever 

Mingled  crop  is  ours. 

Beauty  like  a  glory  lies 

O'er  thy  being  now, 
Mirrored  in  thy  glad  blue  eyes, 

And  thy  cherub  brow, 
Wreathed  with  many  a  glossy  tress 
Of  such  amber  loveliness 
As  no  poet  can  express, 

Paint  he  e'er  so  well  ; 
And  the  budding  lip,  that  shows 


156  TO  ELIZABETH. 

Less  of  ruby  than  of  rose, 
And  the  dimpled  cheek,  which  glows 
Like  the  rose-steeped  shell. 

Nursling  of  a  rugged  clime, 

These  are  now  thy  dower ; 
But  o'er  these  the  despot  Time 

Hath  a  demon's  power  ; 
Speed  can  never  foil  his  flight, 
Darkness  muffle  from  his  sight, 
Strength  nor  beauty  stay  his  might, 

Though  an  angel  plead  ; 
Nature's  self  is  but  his  thrall — 
Oak  and  adamantine  wall 
At  his  ruthless  summons  fall 

Like  a  smitten  reed. 

Yet  to  wisdom's  clearer  sight, 

Murmur  as  we  may, 
Seems  it  vain  to  mourn  the  blight 

Of  the  flowers  of  clay  ; 
Frailer  and  less  fair  than  those 
Which  their  tender  charms  disclose 
By  the  marge  of  lingering  snows, 

In  some  sunny  vale  ; 
Ere  the  earliest  warblers  bring 
Tidings  of  the  loitering  Spring, 
And  while  Winter's  icy  wing 

Shivers  on  the  gale. 


TO  ELIZABETH.  157 

Therefore,  fairest,  do  not  trust 

To  so  vain  a  stay  ; 
Beauty's  but  a  nicer  bust 

Of  earth's  common  clay  ; 
Born  to  no  diviner  mood, 
Finer  nerve  or  richer  blood, 
Than  her  favored  sisterhood, 

Humbler  gifted,  are  ; 
Hour  by  hour  her  graces  fly  ; 
Fast  her  cherished  roses  die  ; 
And  the  glory  of  her  eye 

Setteth  like  a  star  ! 

But  thy  being's  nobler  part, 

Inly  throned  to  reign 
O'er  the  many-passioned  heart 

And  the  restless  brain — 
Give  to  //fo/o'ermastering  power, 
When  the  Will  would  snatch  the  flower 
From  temptation's  upas  bower, 

Though  the  asp  be  seen 
Coiled  within  its  charmed  dyes — 
And,  when  earth  in  chaos  lies, 
Thou  above  the  wreck  shalt  rise, 

Scathless  and  serene  ! 


LINES 

TO  A  DEAR    FRIEND,  WITH  A  PLAIN  COPY  OF 
BRYANT'S  POEMS. 

| HOUGH  unadorned  with  pictured  charms, 

With  fretted  gold,  or  flashing  gem  ; 
I  deem  that  friendship's  thoughtful  eye 
Will  not  my  simple  gift  contemn. 

For  lacks  it  not  intrinsic  worth, 

Beyond  the  pride  of  wealth  or  art — 

The  beauties  of  a  polished  mind, 
The  graces  of  a  gentle  heart  : 

One  that,  like  Numa,  oft  has  borne 

From  haunted  fount  and  voiceless  glen, 

The  wisdom  of  a  wiser  lore 

Than  marks  the  babbling  schools  of  men  : 

One  who  hath  drawn  from  passing  bird, 
From  falling  leaf,  and  drooping  flower, 

Thoughts  that  shall  light  the  memory's  shrine, 
Till  life's  remotest  hour  : 

158 


LINES  TO  A  DEAR  FRIEND.  159 

One  whose  chaste  pen  ne'er  traced  a  line 

To  virtue  false,  to  license  dear  ; 
Which  manly  pride  might  blush  to  read, 

Or  maiden  purity  to  hear. 


LINES 

ON    REVISITING    BERKSHIRE    LATE    IN    AUTUMN. 

]OW  slow  the  moons  have  waxed  and  waned, 

How  dim  their  alien  beams  to  me, 
Since,  fast  in  urban  durance  chained, 

Dear  Mountainland,  I've  pined  for  thee  ! 

When  last,  beneath  these  native  skies, 
I  gazed  on  hills  and  vales  so  dear, 

The  charm  of  Eden's  vernal  dyes 

Seemed  mirrored  in  the  landscape  here. 

The  clover's  breath  embalmed  the  breeze, 
That  danced  from  sunny  knoll  to  knoll, 

Repaying  with  the  hum  of  bees 
The  shades  where  sang  the  oriole. 

But  now,  alas  !  how  changed  the  scene  ! 

No  warbling  woods,  no  murmuring  blooms, 
No  groves  with  rustling  arras  green, 

The  pride  of  summer's  silvan  looms  ! 
160 


LINES  ON  REVISITING  BERKSHIRE.     l6l 

Yet  dearer,  in  their  silent  woe, 

Are  these  brown  wastes  and  wilds  to  me, 
Than  all  the  gorgeous  pomp  and  show 

Of  that  great  mart  beside  the  sea. 

For  let  me  feel  beneath  my  feet, 

O  native  soil  !  thy  quickening  thrill  ; 

And  I,  too,  like  the  famed  athlete, 

Thence  gain  new  strength  to  wrestle  still — 

Still  sorely  toil,  that  wealth  may  fling 

Fresh  ingots  on  his  swollen  heap  ; 
Still  cope  with  cares,  whose  ruthless  sting 

Disturbs  the  very  death  of  sleep  ; 

With  little  means  and  large  desires 

Conflicting  in  the  silent  mind, 
That  oft,  in  happier  mood,  aspires 

Its  own  fond  tasks  and  times  to  find, 

And  be  what  manly  pride  commands, 

Life's  nobler  mission  to  fulfil — 
No  passive  tool  in  sordid  hands 

To  work  its  wielder's  reckless  will. 


DEATH. 

LL  !  thou  rememberest  all 

Earth's  breathing  forms   of  every 
name  and  lot  ; 

And  bear'st  the  sable  pall 
With  equal  hand  to  palace  and  to  cot, 
Where  pines  the  monarch  on  his  pampered  throne, 
Or  cowers  the  outcast  watched  by  want  alone  ! 

Bravely  the  eagle's  plume 
Bestems  the  gale,  and  sunward  lifts  his  form 

Above  the  flashing  gloom, 
And  volleyed  terrors  of  the  rushing  storm  ; 
Yet  vain  that  soaring  wing's  exulting  might 
To  pass  the  range  of  thy  dark  arrow's  flight. 

Wide  o'er  the  polar  waste, 

Where    life    shrinks    back    from    Winter's    ghastly 
towers  ; 

Wide  o'er  the  green  zones  graced 
With  all  the  glorious  blazonry  of  flowers, — 
Yea,  o'er  each  span  of  ocean's  dark  domain, 
Are  spread  the  trophies  of  thy  conquering  reign. 
162 


DEATH.  163 

Empires  of  old  renown, 
Like  giant  phantoms,  all  have  passed  away — 

The  Macedonian's  crown, 
The  Caesar's  pomp,  the  Goth's  avenging  sway, 
Awake  no  terrors  now,  whilst  every  knee 
Still  bows  in  trembling  fealty  to  thee  ! 

Afar  the  tempest  flings 
Its  warning  thunders  on  the  startled  gale, 

And  far  the  simoom's  wings 
Forecast  the  portent  of  its  coming  bale  ; 
But  thou,  O  dread,  inexorable  foe  ! 
Sendest  no  herald  of  thy  mortal  blow. 

Where  the  glad  wine  is  quaffed, 
And  dance  and  song  the  giddy  banquet  crown, 

Thou  bear'st  thy  ruthless  shaft, 
Assassin-like,  to  strike  thy  victim  down  ; 
Perchance  the  maid  betrothed,  or  blushing  bride, 
Or  laurelled  idol  of  a  nation's  pride. 

While  bending  o'er  his  lyre, 
In  the  deep  hush  of  night's  inspiring  reign, 

Flushed  with  celestial  fire 

The  mortal  minstrel  wakes  his  deathless  strain  ; 
Thy  hand,  relentless  at  the  purposed  ill, 
Arrests  life's  silver  chords,  and  all  is  still  ! 

Where  guilt  with  innocence, 
And  pomp  with  squalid  misery  jostling  meets  ; 
Thou,  robed  in  pestilence, 


1 64  DEATH. 

At  noonday  stalkest  through  the  shuddering  streets  ; 
Till  all  is  hushed  where  crowds  were  wont  to  tread, 
Save  the  lone  hearseman's  call,  "  Bring  forth  your 
dead  !  " 

Nor  smites  thy  swifter  dart, 
O  blinded  archer  of  the  random  aim  ! 

The  sere  and  leprous  heart, 

For  years  and  years  the  haunt  of  sin  and  shame  ; 
Nor  his,  whose  mad  ambition's  ruthless  flood 
Dyes  nations  crimson  in  their  noblest  blood  : 

Thou  mak'st  th'  insatiate  grave 
Thine  earlier  garner  for  the  pride  of  earth  ; 

The  wise,  the  just,  the  brave, 
The  fair,  the  loved, — yea  all  of  proven  worth, 
Thou  snatchest  from  affection's  scanty  store, 
Nor  to  its  yearning  breast  return'st  them  more  ! 

Yet  to  the  pure  in  heart, 
Who  through  temptation's  many-sirened  sea, 

By  faith's  revealed  chart 

Have  shaped  their  perilled  course  unfalteringly, 
Thou,  like  a  pilot,  welcomely  dost  come, 
To  bring  life's  weary  bark  to  its  last  haven  home  ! 


WAITING  FOR    MORNING    AT   PROFILE 
MOUNTAIN. 

iCARCE  other  token  than  the  low  sweet  chant 
Of    unseen    birds    announced    the    coming 

dawn  ; 

As,  all  impatient  of  the  lingering  night, 
To  this  weird  lake  I  groped  my  eager  way. 
I  know  the  mountain  giants  are  encamped 
About  me,  scarce  a  bowshot  from  my  feet ; 
While  yet  no  intimation  is  vouchsafed 
Of  presences  so  wondrous  and  so  near. 
Patience,  O  longing  eyes  !   for  soon  this  gloom 
Shall  be  transfused  with  floods  of  silvery  sheen 
Poured  from  the  golden  chalice  of  the  morn  ; 
And  all  this  now  invisible  array, 
Stand  forth  in  clear  apocalypse  sublime. 

At  last,  O  joy  !  at  last,  hope  long  deferred 
Becomes  fruition  as  the  darkness  melts, 
The  gray  mists  vanish,  and  the  dismal  void, 
Anon,  is  one  vast  sea  of  crystal  air  ! 
Rapt,  motionless,  oblivious  of  self, 
»     165 


1 66     MORNING  AT  PROFILE  MOUNTAIN. 

I  gaze  on  these  imperial  Sovereignties 
With  all  the  wonder  of  a  waking  child, 
Whose  last  sight  was  dear  faces  ;  whose  first,  now. 
Phantoms   more   strange   than  thrilled    his    wildest 
dreams. 

But  who  art  Thou,  whose  throned  sublimity 
O'erkings  these  Titan  majesties,  and  takes 
Captive  the  gazer's  soul  with  nameless  awe  ? 
Few  are  the  stormy  centuries  that  have  swept 
Athwart  thy  cliff-hewn  brother  of  the  Nile  ; 
And  lo,  a  formless  and  disfeatured  mass 
Is  all  the  sculptured  marvel  that  remains 
Of  man's  eidolon  of  Cyclopic  man  ; 
Whilst  over  thy  immortal  lineaments, 
O  Memnon  of  the  Mountains  !   harmlessly, 
As  the  cloud's  shadow  o'er  the  granite  glides, 
Millions  of  years  have  passed,  and  left  thy  face 
Clear-cut  and  sharp  against  the  azure  sky  ! 
Thy  lifted  brow  fronts  Eastward,  whence  arise 
The  Shining  Ones  whose  coming,  morn  and  eve, 
These  glens  first  read  in  thy  illumined  smiles. 
Thence,  too,  arose  upon  thy  wondering  gaze, 
That  light,  before  whose  glory  suns  and  stars 
Put  off  their  splendor — that  Promethean  flame, 
Brought    by    the    Mayflower    from    the    throne    of 

God, 
To  smite  the  rayless  darkness  from  a  world 


"LOOK    NOT    THOU    UPON    THE    WINE 
WHEN  IT  IS  RED/' 


SOFT  sleep  the  hills  in  their  sunny  repose, 
In  the  Land  of  the  South,  where  the  vine 

fondest  grows  ; 

And  blithesome  the  hearts  of  the  vintagers  be 
In  the  grape-purpled  vales  of  the  Isles  of  the  Sea  ! 

And  fair  is  the  wine  when  its  splendor  is  poured 
Where  glass  beams  to  glass  round  the  festival  board, 
While  the  magic  of  music  awakes  in  its  power, 
And  wit  gilds  the  fast-falling  sands  of  the  hour. 

Yet  lift  not  the  Wine-cup,  though  pleasure  may  swim 
Mid  the  bubbles  that  flash  round  its  roseate  brim  ; 
For  dark  in  the  depths  of  the  vortex  below, 
Are  the  sirens  that  haunt  the  red  maelstrom  of  woe. 

They  have  lured  the  gay  spirit  of  ch^dhood  astray, 
While  it  dreamed  not  of  wiles  on  its  innocent  way  ; 

167 


1 68     LOOK  NOT  THOU  UPON  THE  WINE. 

And  the  soft  cheek  of  Beauty  they've  paled  in  its 

bloom, 
And  quenched  her  bright  eyes  in  the  damps  of  the 

tomb. 

They   have  torn   the  live  wreath   from  the  brow  of 

the  Brave, 
And   changed   his  proud   heart   to   the  heart  of  a 

slave  ; 

And  e'en  the  fair  fame  of  the  pure  and  the  just, 
With  the  gray  hairs  of  age,  they  have  trampled  in 

dust. 

Then  lift  not  the  Wine-cup,  though  pleasure  may 

swim 

Mid  the  bubbles  that  flash  round  its  roseate  brim  ; 
For  dark  in  the  depths  of  the  vortex  below, 
Are  the  sirens  that  haunt  the  red  maelstrom  of  woe  ! 


THE    OPTIMIST. 

jRITHEE,  friend,  why  always  sad, 

Whatsoe'er  the  case  is  ? 
Why  contend  our  "  world  is  bad," 
In  all  times  and  places  ? 

Know  that  he,  who  thus  complains 

Of  this  wondrous  Nature, 
Contumeliously  arraigns 

Its  divine  Creator. 

He  pronounced  it  "  very  good"* 

~But}><?u,  bold  decryer, 
Have  the  monstrous  hardihood 

To  make  God  a  liar  ! 

Unto  His  unerring  eye, 

Faultless  the  inspection  ; 
And  the  Morning  Stars  on  high 

Hymned  the  clear  perfection. 
169 


I/O  THE  OPTIMIST. 

You,  who  scarce  can  see  your  hand, 
At  arm's  length  diminished, 

Swear  that  worlds  were  badly  planned, 
Botched,  and  left  half  finished  ! 

"  Ours,  at  least,  where  pain  and  sin, 

Leech  and  priest  defying, 

Claim  us  ere  life  well  begin, 

Leave  us  but  in  dying  !  " 

Yes,  but  may  not  wisdom  deem 
That  e'en  these  dread  phases, 

In  the  universal  scheme 
Have  their  rightful  places  ? 

He  who  saw  the  perfect  whole 

While  'twas  yet  ideal, 
Faulted  not  in  sand  or  soul, 

When  He  made  it  real. 

Think  you  that  His  wise  intents 
By  mere  chance  succeeded  ? 

That  He  fashioned  instruments 
Never  used  nor  needed  ? 

Pain  and  pleasure,  good  and  ill, 

In  themselves  or  actors, 
All  are  workers  of  His  will, 

All  are  benefactors. 


THE  OPTIMIST.  I/I 


Had  there  been  no  Lucifer 
To  the  world's  temptation, 

There  had  been  no  Crucifer 
For  the  great  salvation. 

Though  our  earth  be  but  a  speck 

On  creation's  border, 
It  could  never  suffer  wreck 

Without  worlds'  disorder  : 

Orbs  above  it,  orbs  below, 

All  concatenated, 
Needs  must  feel  a  kindred  throe, 

Were't  annihilated. 

Orb  and  atom — each  is  just 
What  and  where  it  should  be  ; 

Otherwise  the  Cosmos  must 
Fail  of  what  it  would  be. 

Even  one  so  mean  as  I, 

Born  for  humblest  kneeing, 

Links  still  humbler  with  the  high, 
In  the  chain  of  being. 

Let  us,  then,  submissive  rest 

In  our  several  station, 
Sure  that  all  is  for  the  best, 

Throughout  all  creation  ! 


THE  BUYER  BOUGHT. 


lately  at  an  hostelry 

Not  many  miles  from  Washington,  D.  C., 
T,  who  am  dwarfed  alike  by  stout  and  tall, 
Could  not  but  feel  ridiculously  small, 
When,  to  the  attic  summons  of  my  bell, 
A  dark  Hyperion  promptly  answered,  "  Well  ?  " 
A  nobler  presence,  form  of  grander  mold, 
Of  shapelier  limb,  or  power  more  manifold, 
My  eyes  had  rarely  lighted  on  till  then, 
In  all  their  wide  remark  of  model  men. 
"  Well?"  he  repeated,  as  my  anxious  sight 
Surveyed  the  airy  distance  of  the  height 
I  needs  must  measure,  should  he,  haply,  please 
To  hurl  me  headlong  (and  he  could  with  ease), 
For  ringing  up,  though  unaware  indeed, 
So  grand  a  server  of  a  trivial  need. 
But  soon  recovering  from  my  blank  surprise, 
And  squarely  meeting  his  unswerving  eyes, 
I  said,  as  one  preposterously  brave  : 
"  Are  you,  forsooth,  a  —  pardon  me  —  a  slave  ?  " 
172 


THE  BUYER  BOUGHT. 

"  Slave  !  "  he  retorted  with  a  bitter  smile, 
And  nervous  tapping  of  his  breast  the  while, 
"  I  bought  of  my  own  father,  truth  to  say, 
For  a  great  price,  this  unpaternal  clay  ; 
And,  as  I  paid  in  full,  I  surely  ought 
To  be  the  owner  of  the  thing  I  bought !  " 


LINES 

TO  A  YOUNG  FRIEND,  WITH  A  COPY  OF  SHAKSPEARE. 

JS  o'er  the  crystal  element 

The  Queen  of  Eden  careless  bent, 
She  started  back  with  frank  surprise 
At  the  sweet  face  that  met  her  eyes  ; 
Yet  looked  again,  and  gazing  on 
The  upward-gazing  paragon, 
She  felt,  perforce,  as  beauty  will, 
Her  pure  cheek  flush,  her  bosom  thrill, 
To  recognize  her  own  fair  face 
In  perfect  reflex,  grace  for  grace  ! 

So  when,  at  times,  my  gentle  friend 
O'er  Shakspeare's  magic  page  shall  bend, — 
Where  Genius  in  its  happiest  mood 
All  loveliest  traits  of  womanhood 
Has  mirrored  in  immortal  lays, — 
She,  too,  shall  start  with  fond  amaze, 
To  see  the  imaged  counterpart 
Of  her  own  maiden  min'd  and  heart, 
In  Portia's,  Juliet's  sister  mien, 
And  the  white  soul  of  Imogen. 
i74 


CLERK-VESPERS  IN  WALL  STREET. 


IWELVE  hours  since  morn  I've  toiled 

Dear  hours  of  blithesome  boyhood,  yet 
As  one  who  never  dreamed  of  play, 
Or  dreamed  but  to  forget. 

I  know  not  what  the  day  has  been 
Abroad  beneath  the  vernal  skies, 

I  only  know  that  here  within 
It  seemed  of  sombre  guise. 

Perchance  on  circling  hills  the  while, 
And  flowery  slope  and  dimpled  bay, 

The  golden  sunlight's  softest  smile 
Has  played  the  livelong  day. 

Yet  what  is  Spring's  glad  light  to  him, 
Or  earth's  fresh  lap  whereon  it  falls, 

Whose  heaven  is  yonder  sky-light  dim, 
Whose  scope,  these  dingy  walls  ? 


CLERK-VESPERS  IN  WALL  STREET. 

Here  is  my  world,  relieved  by  nought 
Of  swarded  green  or  vaulted  blue  ; 

Here,  day  by  day,  must  thews  and  thought 
The  same  dull  task  pursue. 

Chained  to  the  oar,  like  galley-boy, 

When  youth  would  float  with   pleasure's   tides, 
I  row  against  the  stream  of  joy, 

And  gaze  the  way  it  glides. 

But  thanks  to  thee,  returning  Eve, 
That  smil'st  with  starry  eyes  so  fair, 

And  bring'st  the  blest  though  brief  reprieve 
From  this  dull  round  of  care  ! 

Hence  !  figured  tomes,  whose  soulless  lore 
But  treats  of  Mammon's  loss  or  gain  ; 

I  feel  your  shadows  fall  once  more 
Alike  from  heart  and  brain. 

Farewell  !  till  morn,  the  din  and  jar, 

The  tumult  of  the  bustling  street, 
The  rumbling  of  the  ponderous  car, 

And  tramp  of  eager  feet. 

The  loveliest  of  suburban  nooks, 

All  green  with  rustling  vine  and  bough, 

And  voices  sweet,  and  fond,  fond  looks 
Await  my  coming  now. 


CLERK-VESPERS  IN  WALL  STREET.      177 

And,  haply,  o'er  the  moonlit  dews, 

When  sleep  has  hushed  those  voices  sweet, 

For  trysting  dear  night's  coyest  muse 
Shall  seek  my  green  retreat  ; 

And,  with  some  charm  of  measured  thought, 

Again  bid  joy's  reviving  wings 
Forget  what  cares  to-day  has  brought, 

And  what  to-morrow  brings. 


IT  IS  WELL  WITH  THE  CHILD. 

SIMPLE  pebble  from  the  brook, 

That  daily  wins  a  passing  look 
By  some  quaint  charm  of  form  or  hue, 
We  miss  not  from  our  wonted  view, 
Without  a  natural  regret 
To  lose  e'en  such  a  humble  pet. 
More  natural  still  the  tender  pain, 
When  ours  the  lot  to  look  in  vain 
For  living  object,  bird  or  flower, 
Whose  charm  has  solaced  many  an  hour, 
And  made  the  very  sick-room  seem 
The  precinct  of  a  dulcet  dream. 
But  when  inexorable  Fate 
Will  make  us  most  disconsolate, 
She  snatches  from  our  yearning  sight 
Some  nearer,  dearer  heart's  delight — 
Some  spirit  from  the  realms  of  day 
Embodied  in  our  mortal  clay  ; 
Like  thine,  dear  little  friend,  whose  face 
Beamed  on  us  with  such  winning  grace, 


IT  IS  WELL  WITH  THE  CHILD.  1 79 

As  made  each  glance,  wherever  met, 
The  sunniest  and  the  sweetest  yet  ! 
And  daily  to  our  longing  eyes 
Its  vanished  smiles  will  fondly  rise  ; 
And,  nightly,  blend  their  angel  gleams 
With  memory's  most  hallowed  dreams  ; 
Till,  haply,  in  that  happier  clime 
Beyond  these  brooding  mists  of  time, 
We  meet  the  dear  ones  gone  before, 
Imparadised  for  evermore  ! 


LINES 

ON     REVISITING    A   FAVORITE    LAKE,    AFTER    AN    ABSENCE    OF 
MANY   YEARS. 

|ROM  those  thronged  haunts,  where  Nature's 

trampled  germs 
Ne'er  feel  the  touch  of  Spring,  nor  wake  to  wear 
Her  green  and  perfumed  garniture  again, 
Escap'd  at  last,  like  vassal  disenthralled, 
I  stand  upon  thy  silvan  marge  once  more, 

0  fairest  mirror  !  where  the  placid  Morn 
Surveys  her  blushing  loveliness,  or  Eve 
The  wondrous  glory  of  her  starry  train  ! 
Yet  bears  the  image  gazing  at  me  now, 
Far  other  aspect  than  was  wont  to  smile 

On  boyhood's  bending  vision  ;  though  the  boy 
And  he  that  sighs  to  mark  the  mournful  change, 
Are    still   the    same.       Sad    change,    indeed  ! — yet 

thanks, 
Thanks,  dear  magician  !  in  whose  faithful  glass 

1  read  that  time  may  pale  the  flush  of  youth, 
May  blanch  the  raven  locks,  and  earthward  bend 

1 80 


LINES  TO  A  FAVORITE  LAKE.  l8l 

• 
The  wan  and  wrinkled  tablet  of  the  brow  ; 

Yet  leave  the  heart's  first  records  uneffaced, 

And  all  its  Geyser-fountains  bubbling  still. 

Therefore  to  thee  and  these  associate  scenes, 

Whate'er  this  outward  seeming,  I  have  brought 

The  fresh,  warm  feelings,  and  the  memories  dear 

Ye  nursed  within  my  breast  in  vernal  years. 

Despite  the  past,  I  am  a  boy  again  ! 

And  soon  from  yon  dim  grotto  as  of  yore, 

A  fairy  bark  shall  leap  into  thy  waves, 

And  fling  its  white  folds  bravely  to  the  breeze 

In  gay  defiance  ;  nor  shall  he  whose  hand 

Directs  its  billowy  fleetness,  heave  a  sigh 

For  broader  ocean  or  more  witching  isles 

Than  these  my  own  dear  native  hills  embrace. 

And  when  the  stormy  spirit  of  the  North 

Has  hushed  thy  liquid  murmurs,  and  consigned 

Thy  dimpled  beauty  to  a  rigid  waste, 

The  boy  of  two-score  winters  oft  shall  join 

The  hamlet's  merry  troop,  careering  wild 

On  steel-shod  sandals  o'er  thy  smooth  expanse  ; 

While  ring  the  echoing  dells  with  louder  mirth, 

When  sheer  beneath  our  swiftly-gliding  feet, 

Thunders  the  sudden  cleft  from  shore  to  shore  ; 

And  she  who  bends  in  childhood's  strange  delight 
Above  the  pale  sweet  face  soft  mirrored  there, 
As  if  thy  loveliest  Naiad's  sister  eyes 
Were  smiling  up  in  hers,  shall  haunt  with  me 


1 82  LINES  TO  A  FAVORITE  LAKE. 

• 

Thy  winding  bays,  green  isles,  and  headlands  bold, 
And  deem  that  Tempe  in  its  vernal  prime 
Could  boast  no  charms  that  were  exotic  here. 
To  her,  erewhile  in  urban  durance  pent, 
Earth's  verdant  lap,  perfumed  with  floral  hues, 
And  laced  with  silver  streams,  was  all  unknown  ; 
Nay,  yonder  Sun,  bedimmed  by  sulphurous  clouds, 
And  shorn  of  half  his  realms  by  Art's  proud  piles 
Upheaved  in  gloomy  grandeur  to  the  sky, 
Has  never  taught  her  wondering  soul  till  now, 
With  what  a  godlike  glory  he  comes  forth 
From  morning's  rosy  portals,  and  at  eve 
Smiles  from  his  golden  chambers  of  the  West. 
The  time  has  been  when  one  poor  sickly  flower, 
One  dwarf'd  shrub  pining  in  the  dim,  damp  court, 
And  one  pet  bird,  unconscious  as  herself 
Of  bloomy  lawns  and  many-minstrelled  groves, 
Were  all  she  knew  of  Nature  ;  but  henceforth 
Her  path  shall  wind  through  fields  so  pranked  with 

flowers, 

That  oft  her  lifted  foot  shall  seek  in  vain 
For  space  whereon  to  light,  nor  harm  the  bee  ; 
Or   steal    through   warbling  wilds    so   arched   with 

boughs, 

And  roofed  with  myriad  leaves,  the  noon-day  sun 
Ne'er  sees  the  moss  on  which  their  shadows  sleep. 
And  ah  !  should  that  young  cheek's  too  lingering 

flush, 
Like  Autumn's  hectic  hues,  presage  decay, 


LINES  TO  A  FAVORITE  LAKE.  183 

Still  hope  is  ours,  that  thou  who  sendest  forth 
Thy  cooling  mists  upon  the  evening  winds, 
To  bless  with  gentle  showers  or  gentler  dews 
The  lowliest  herb  that  withers  in  the  waste, 
Hast  yet  a  healing  balm  for  this  dear  flower, 
Snatched  from  the  rough  Zahara  of  the  world 
To  bloom  in  thy  glad  presence,  fairy  lake, 
And  crown  the  glory  of  thy  perfect  charms. 


THE  PARTING  BY  THE  SEA. 

— RURSUS   TE,    NATA,    LICEBIT 

AMPLECTI  ?  Claudian. 

|NE  more  embrace,  sweet  one,  the  last 

For  long,  long  months,  perchance  for  years  ! 
The  loosed  sail  climbs  the  dizzy  mast, 

The  pilot  at  his  helm  appears  ; 
And  hark  !  the  imperious  All  ashore  ! 
Alas  ! — yet  one — one  last  kiss  more  ! 

Now,  though  thou  canst  not  hear  the  prayer 
We  lingering  breathe  beside  the  sea  ; 

Our  wafted  kisses  still  shall  bear 
Sweet  messages  of  love  to  thee, 

As  long  as  brimming  eyes  can  trace 

Thy  form  across  the  widening  space. 

O  vernal  winds  !  whose  fickleness 

The  palm  of  change  may  justly  claim, 

For  once  your  wanton  mood  repress, 
And,  sobered  to  a  steady  aim, 

Speed  onward,  with  unwavering  breath, 

The  bark  that  bears  Elizabeth  ! 
184 


THE  PARTING  BY   THE  SEA.  185 

And  when  her  pilgrimage  is  o'er  , 
Her  memory  made  a  pictured  shrine 

For  shapes  and  scenes  which  classic  lore 
Has  touched  with  splendor  half  divine  ; 

O  faithful  winds  !  still  fair  abaft, 

The  loving  to  the  loving  waft ! 


THE  LAST  WATCH. 

[O-MORROW,  Greenwood's  turf  must  fold 
These  dear  remains  from  mortal  sight — 
Ah  !   slowly  let  the  sands  be  told, 

That  bring  the  parting  anguish,  Night ! 

As  o'er  the  shrouded  form  we  bend, 
Our  souls  with  fond  illusions  thrill — 

Sweet  dreams,  that  thou,  departed  friend, 
In  this  pale  sleep  art  with  us  still. 

But  never  more  from  such  eclipse 
Shall  morn  those  gentle  eyes  relume, 

Nor  ever  more  on  those  cold  lips 
Shall  wit  its  smiling  throne  resume  ! 

Nor  shall  that  voice,  so  soft  and  sweet, 

Again  in  silvery  accents  flow  ; 
Or  that  dear  hand,  delighted,  meet 

Our  own  in  friendship's  heart-warm  glow  ! 
1 86 


THE  LA  ST  WA  TCH.  1 8/ 

Vet,  Charles  !  till  we,  who  watch  and  weep, 

In  turn  are  gathered  earth  to  earth  ; 
Our  souls  with  vestal  care  shall  keep 

Undimmed  the  record  of  thy  worth. 

How  soon  must  Greenwood's  turf  enfold 
These  dear  remains  from  love's  fond  sight ! 

Ah  !  slowly  let  the  sands  be  told, 

That  bring  the  parting  anguish,  Night ! 


LINES  TO  A  DEAR  YOUNG  FRIEND. 

[S  men  have  watched  the  starry  skies, 

To  herald  fate's  decree ; 
So  have  I  gazed  in  thy  young  eyes 

To  learn  thy  destiny  ; 
But  in  their  azure  depths  of  light 

No  prophet-sign  appears, 
•To  mark  thy  life  for  early  blight, 
Or  long  and  happy  years. 

Yet,  let  no  fear  of  future  ill 

Thy  sunny  smiles  o'ercast  ! 
Spring  holds  not  back  her  budding  sweets, 

For  menaced  blight  or  blast  ; 
Nor  deem  it  hard  that  change  on  change 

Betides  our  steps  below  ; 
Earth  were  too  dear  if  all  were  joy, 

Too  drear  if  all  were  woe. 

Life's  mingled  chalice,  then,  dear  friend, 
With  calm  acceptance  greet ; 
188 


LINES  TO  A  DEAR  YOUNG  FRIEND.      189 

Not  mindless  of  its  bitter  drops, 

Nor  thankless  for  its  sweet  ; 
And  trust,  that  though  thy  future  path 

Through  wastes  forlorn  may  lie  ; 
The  care  that  guards  the  desert  bird, 

Will  fount  and  food  supply  ! 


.  BROTHER  TO  BROTHERS. 

[ROM  the  four  winds  we  are  come, 
Brothers,  to  this  gracious  home, 
Each  at  Alma  Mater's  knee 
To  be  trained  impartially 
For  the  post  his  bent,  not  whim, 
Plainly  points  as  best  for  him 
Where  to  strike  for  truth  and  right 
With  a  a  loyal  champion's  might. 

Who  shall  say  that  ours  is  not, 
Every  Avay,  a  favored  lot  ? 
While  in  yonder  busy  streets 
Toil  his  weary  tasks  repeats, 
Plying  hammer,  trowel,  plane, 
Urged  by  need,  or  greed  of  gain  ; 
Here  we  take  our  easefnl  seat 
At  some  sage  Gamaliel's  feet. 
While  he  turns  the  classic  page, 
And  exalts  the  heritage 
Left  by  genius  graced  to  find 
Richest  ingots  of  the  mind, 
190 


BROTHER   TO  BROTHERS. 

And  to  coin  the  precious  store 
For  world-treasures  evermore  ; 
Or  he  bids  the  Gnomes  reveal 
What  their  rayless  realms  conceal ; 
Bids  the  Naiads  rob  the  seas 
Of  their  untold  mysteries  ; 
Or  the  restless  Sylphs  declare 
Their  coy  wonders  of  the  air  ; 
Or  Urania  disclose 
How  the  starry  hosts  arose, 
And,  in  circling  order  bright, 
Interchangeing  day  and  night, 
With  their  orreries  sublime 
Mete  the  cosmic  march  of  time. 

Brothers,  wheresoe'er  at  last, 
Fate  our  severed  lives  shall  cast ; 
In  the  pauses  of  the  strife, 
Which  awaits  all  earnest  life, 
These  quaternion  years  will  seem 
Like  a  brief  Elysian  dream, 
Which,  with  many  a  fond  refrain, 
We  shall  dream  and  dream  again  ! 

When  the  knell  of  college-days 
Tolls  us  to  the  parting  ways, 
(Nevermore,  perchance,  to  meet  !) 
And  our  unreturning  feet 
Bear  us  far  and  farther  from 
This  our  dear  fraternal  home, 


192  BROTHER   TO  BROTHERS. 

• 

We  shall  see  in  Memory's  glass, 

All  its  varied  past  repass — 

See  these  groves  where  we  have  strayed 

As  in  Academus'  shade, 

Musing  Science'  endless  themes, 

Rapt  with  poets'  vivid  dreams  ; 

See  each  grave  Gamaliel's  brow 

Fondly  anxious  then  as  now  ; 

And  each  comrade's  face,  the  while, 

Meet  and  greet  us,  smile  for  smile  ! 

Brothers  !  near  or  far  apart, 
Let  us  so  keep  hand  and  heart 
True  to  every  duty's  claim, 
Pure  from  every  soil  of  shame, 
That  no  sighed  "  alas  !  "  be  heard 
For  one  thoughtless  deed  or  word, 
When  or  where  in  Memory's  glass, 
We  shall  see  our  past  repass  ! 


INTRODUCTORY  LINES  FOR  A  FRIEND'S 
ALBUM. 

[EAR  friends,  these  leaves  so  pure  and  white, 

Just  as  they  are,  can  give  delight 
To  eyes  that  have  been  blest  to  see 
A  charm  in  spotless  purity. 
Nor  deem  me  vain,  if  /  confess 
To  feel  that  charm's  delighfulness 
In  these  fair  blanks,  as  now  they  are, 
Without  one  fleck  or  speck  to  mar  ! 

But  what  a  deeper  pleasure  still, 
In  after  years  my  heart  shall  thrill, 
When,  bending  o'er  these  tablets  dear, 
I  read  what  love  has  written  here  ! 
Even'^^w,  from  out  this  stainless  white, 
Fond  words  steal  clearly  on  my  sight, 
And  sweetly  whisper  in  my  ear 
Heart-greetings,  tender  and  sincere. 

» 

But  when  these  fancied  words  shall  stand 
Revealed,  at  last,  by  friendship's  hand  ; 
193 


194         LINES  FOR  A  FRIEND'S  ALBUM. 

What  crowning  joy  shall  then  be  mine. 
As,  lingering  o'er  each  gracious  line, 
My  eyes  in  every  sentence  trace 
The  writer's  very  form  and  face  ; 
While  breathes  his  voice,  so  near,  so  dear, 
From  all  the  precious  souvenir  ! 


THE    TEMPTATION. 

[HE    merchant   prince    had    retired    for   the 

day, 

And  clerk  after  clerk  had  dropt  away, 
Till  at  last  remained  but  a  single  one 
At  his  weary  desk  and  his  task  undone, 
As  slowly  the  twilight's  spectral  gloom 
Shut  down  on  the  lonely  counting-room, 
Whose  ponderous  safe's  forgotten  key 
Seemed  to  whisper,  "  Lo,  open  Sesame  !" 
Then  wierdly  stole  on  the  toiler's  ear  : 
"  Ho  !  slave  of  the  thriftless  pen,  look  here  ! 
Lo  !  riches  to  win  one  a  royal  bride — 
The  coast  is  clear,  and  the  world  is  wide  ; 
By  the  forelock  seize  opportunity, 
Or  grovel  in  life-long  drudgery  !  " 
Then  the  safe  key  turned  in  the  massy  ward, 
And  the  door  swung  ope  of  its  own  accord, 
Disclosing  a  glamour  of  treasures  untold, 
Ingots  and  coffers  compact  of  gold  ; 
And  again  there  glozed  in  the  young  clerk's  ear, 
"  The  world  is  wide,  and  the  coast  is  clear  ; 


1 96  THE  TEMPTATION. 

Make  free,  and  away  o'er  the  trackless  sea — 
Wealth  everywhere  sails  in  brave  company  !  " 

But  hark  !  like  the  moan  of  passing-bell, 
A  low,  stern  voice  on  the  silence  fell : 
u  Make  free,  if  thou  wilt,  and  away  o'er  the  sea — 
But  these  are  the  comrades  shall  sail  with  thee  : 
Contempt  for  the  honor  that  could  not  withhold 
Its  hand  from  the  grasp  of  another's  gold  ; 
Remorse  for  the  lessons  so  lightly  spurned, 
From  tenderest  lips  in  thy  childhood  learned  ; 
Despair  for  the  sinister  bar  of  shame 
Burnt  into  the  shield  of  an  honored  name  ; 
Soul-yearnings  for  voices  and  faces  that  ne'er 
Shall  be  heard  but  in  dreams,  but  in  dreams  shall 

appear ; 

And  Conscience,  commissioned  to  antedate 
The  tortures  assigned  to  the  afterstate  ; 
And  Terror,  the  bloodhound  that  night  and  day 
Hangs  hard  on  the  heels  of  its  felon  prey — 
Let  him  fly  to  the  shrine,  let  him  cower  in  the  gloom 
Of  the  robber's  cave  or  the  eremite's  tomb ; 
Let   him    rove    with    the    corsair,   or    flit   with    the 

bands 
Whose     barbs     mock   pursuit    to     the    mid-desert 

sands ; 

No  refuge  so  distant,  no  gloom  so  intense. 
But  the  bay  of  that  bloodhound   shall  startle  him 

thence, 


THE   TEMPTATION.  1 97 

And   harrow   and   haunt   him   o'er   waste  and   o'er 

wave, 

To  the  outlaw's  den  or  the  suicide's  grave  !  " — 
Ah  !  pause,  ere  thou  set  the  black  seal  to  thy  fate 
With  the  hand  that  makes  free  with  such  perilous 

freight  ; 

Nor  launch  thy  young  soul  on  life's  treacherous  seas. 
For  a  haven  forlorn,  with  such  comrades  as  these  ! 


NOTHING  LOST. 

ILL  forms  in  this  fair  world  of  ours 

Are  heirs  alike  of  sure  decay — 
Alps,  Andes,  adamantine  towers, 
Dissolving,  perish  day  by  day  ! 
Yet  valleys  wax,  as  mountains  wane 
Before  the  touch  of  fire  or  frost  ; 
Forms  change,  their  elements  remain, 
This  gaining  what  the  other  lost. 

The  lucid  drops  in  beauty's  eye 

Were  once  the  rainbow's  softer  flame  ; 
A  few  brief  hours,  and  yonder  sky 

Its  sparkling  jewels  will  reclaim, 
To  gleam  in  cloudland's  sapphire  hall, 

Snow-stars  or  gems  ol  opal  rain  ; 
Till  earth  the  crystal  waifs  recall, 

To  glow  in  beauty's  orb  again. 


198 


TO  DASYA   ELEGANS. 

JHY  were  ye  formed  so  graceful  and  so  fair, 
To  wave  in  dim  recesses  waste  and  lone  ? 
Why  do  your  fronds  such  purple  splendor  wear, 
As  never  yet  at  Tyrian  bridal  shone  ? 

In  deep  seclusion,  far  from  human  sight, 

Where  ocean  valleys  wind  in  glimmering  gloom, 

What  eye  is  near  to  kindle  with  delight 

And  grateful  wonder,  at  your  matchless  bloom  ? 

Yet  will  I  deem  not  ye  were  born  in  vain, 
Nor  fancy  yours  an  unregarded  lot, — 

No,  lovely  links  in  being's  living  chain, 

Wise  ends  ye  serve,  though  man  may  guess  them 
not  ! 

For  him,  perchance  your  wafted  virtue  lends 
A  balmier  freshness  to  the  ocean  breeze  ; 

Perchance  for  him  your  purple  beauty  blends 
A  softer  azure  with  the  sky's  and  sea's. 
199 


200  TO  DASYA  ELEGANS. 

Nor  will  I  doubt  that  in  your  native  fields, 
Far  from  our  dusty  haunts  of  toil  and  care, 

Your  tinted  grace  a  dear  enchantment  yields 

To  eyes  that  watch  your  bright  unfoldings  there. 

For  'tis  my  faith,  that  in  the  deepest  night 
Of  sparry  grottoes,  as  in  statued  aisles, 

No  form  of  beauty  there  but  gives  delight, 
And  smiles  the  lovelier  for  reflected  smiles. 


INVOCATION  TO  WINTER. 

one,  whose    bosom's    burdened    with    the 

charge 

Of  mournful  tidings.,lingers  on  the  way 
His  errand  leads  him,  falters  at  the  gate, 
And  stops  with  fond  misgiving  by  the  door 
Whence  joy  must  vanish  as  he  lifts  its  latch  ; 
So  come  thou,  Winter  !  messenger  forlorn, 
With  slow  and  sad  reluctance  ;  pausing  oft, 
And  oft  averting  thy  disastrous  face 
From  scenes  thy  presence,  like  a  sombre  cloud, 
Must  disenchant  of  all  their  sunny  smiles. 
We  are  become  so  pampered  with  the  beams 
And  balms  of  Summer,  that  thy  very  name 
To  us,  as  to  the  tropic  relegate 
Amid  the  shivering  horrors  of  the  North, 
Is  but  the  doleful  synonym  of  pain. 
Oh,  regent  of  inexorable  foes  ! 
Leave  us  a  little  longer,  we  implore, 
The  soft  beatitude  of  genial  days, 
The  feel  of  Summer's  scarce  abated  glow 
In  Autumn's  languid  pulses  !   Leave  us  still 


202  IN V OCA  TION  TO  WINTER. 

Sweet  blandishment  of  winds,  whose  gentle  breath 
Seems  but  the  tempered  refluence  of  June's 
Without  her  roses  !  Leave  us  still,  we  pray, 
The  hum  of  bees  in  clovered  aftermaths  ; 
And,  dearer  yet,  the  song  of  lingering  birds, 
Who  would  not  heed  the  swallow's  prescient  call 
To  climes  that  never  dream  of  one  like  thee  ! 

The  sky  is  full  of  many-featured  days- 
Days  fierce  and  grim,  days  of  celestial  smiles, 
Which  cheer  and  cherish  all  the  forms  of  life. 
O  scare  not,  frown  not  back  with  stormy  ire, 
Impatient,  these  serene  benignities  ! 
Let  there  still  linger  round  the  couch  of  pain 
Soft  benedictions  of  the  sun  and  air  ! 
Let  Age  creep  forth,  and  in  their  genial  warmth 
Forget  the  frosts  that  num*b  his  trembling  limbs  ; 
And  let  the  homeless  child  still  find  a  hearth 
In  every  stone  that  woos  his  naked  feet 
To  share  the  blessing  of  its  latent  beams  ! 
Thy  crystal  seal  of  silence  set  not  yet 
Upon  the  silvery  lips  of  tinkling  streams  ; 
Nor  on  the  murmurous  laughter  of  glad  lakes 
To  shimmering  dimples  kissed  by  fairy  winds  ; 
And  oh,  not  yet,  notjy^,  we  pray,  despoil 
The  silvan  realm  of  its  imperial  robes 
By  Iris  woven  in  her  magic  looms  ; 
But  let  our  charmed  wonder  still  survey 
The  glorious  vision,  as  the  favored  guests 
That  walk  the  tiring-chambers  of  a  king  ' 


TO    THE    JOSEPHS  AND    PHARAOHS    OF 
THE  WEST. 

(TIME  OF  THE  FLOUR  RIOTS.) 

|H,  ye  hard-handed,  not  hard-hearted  yoemen, 
Whom  bounteous  Ceres  crowns  with  plen- 

teousness ; 

Pray  do  not  prove  your  city-cousins'  foemen, 
In  this  their  bitter  hour  of  sore  distress  ! 

While  Autumn's  latest  leaves  are  round  us  falling, 
And  first  furs  walk  the  gusty  promenade  ; 

We  hear  the  voice  of  Winter  wildly  calling 
His  ruthless  legions  to  their  annual  raid. 

How  shall  our  gaunt  and  half-starved  ragamuffins, 
Whose  very  sight  would  melt  the  soul  of  Puck, 

Encounter  these  remorseless  Arctic  ruffians 
With  any  decent  show  of  manly  pluck  ? 

The  while  your  barns  and  bins  are  overflowing 
With  all  the  treasures  of  the  bounteous  year  ; 
203 


204        TO  THE  JOSEPHS  OF  THE  WEST. 

And  your  round  cheeks  and  double  chins  are  show 
ing 
The  hale  and  ruddy  glow  of  generous  cheer  ; 

Grim  want  with  livid  lips  and  ghastly  pallor, 
Where  Death  himself  might  deeper  horror  learn, 

And  homelessness,  and  nakedness,  and  squalor, 
Confront  our  shrinking  steps  at  every  turn. 

'Twould  seem  as  if  there'd  been  a  league  of  nations, 
Wherein  all  tongues  and  tribes  had  taken  part, 

At  once  to  kidnap  all  their  poor  relations, 

And  foist  the  living  mass  on  our  doomed  mart. 

Outcasts  Asiatic,  Libyan,  European, 

From  all  the  round  world's  continental  shores 

To  the  remotest  isles  antipodean, 

Besiege  from  mom  till  night  our  hapless  doors  ; 

And  as  they  shrink  before  the  grim  December, 
Drowning  his  wild  blasts  with  the  cry  for  bread, 

There's  something  more  for  pity  to  remember 
Than  wealth's  cold  comfort,  "  Be  ye  clothed  and 

fed  ! " 

Then  hold  not  Ceres  in  ignoble  durance, 
That  later  ransom  may  enlarge  reward  ; 

Shell    out  !    nor   doubt    the   blessed  Book's  assur 
ance  : 
"  Who  helps  the  needy  lendeth  to  the  Lord  !  " 


ONCE   ON  A  TIME. 

(HALLECK,  RED-JACKET  AND  BOZZARIS.) 

|UST  below  Niblo's,  west  southwest, 

In  a  prosaic  street  at  best, 
I  chanced  upon  a  lodge  so  small, 
So  Liliputian  in  all, 
That  Argus,  hundred-eyed  albeit, 
Might  pass  a  hundred  times,  nor  see  it. 
Agog  to  learn  what  manikin 
Had  shrined  his  household  gods 
With  step  as  light  as  tiptoe  fairy's 
I  stole  right  in  among  the  Lares. 
There,  in  the  cosiest  of  nooks, 
Up  to  his  very  eyes  in  books, 
Sat  a  lone  wight,  nor  stout  nor  lean, 
Nor  old  nor  young,  but  just  between, 
Poring  among  the  figured  columns 
Of  those  most  unmelodious  volumes, 
Intently  as  if  there  and  then 
He  conned  tke  fate  of  gods  ana  men. 
205 


206  ONCE  ON  A    TIME. 

Methought  that  brow  so  full  and  fair, 
Was  formed  the  poet's  wreath  to  wear  ; 
And  as  those  eyes  of  azure  hue, 
One  moment  lifted,  met  my  view, 
Gay  worlds  of  starry  thoughts  appeared 
In  their  blue  depths  serenely  sphered. 
Just  then  the  voice  of  one  unseen, 
All  redolent  of  Hippocrene, 
Stole  forth  so  sweetly  on  the  air, 
I  felt  the  Muse  indeed  was  there  ; 
And  feel  how  much  her  words  divine 
Must  lose,  interpreted  by  mine. 

"  For  shame,"  it  said,  "Fitz-Greene,  for  shame  ! 

To  yield  thee  to  inglorious  thrall, 
And  leave  the  trophy  of  thy  fame 
Without  its  crowning  capital  ! 

"  The  sculptor,  bard,  as  well  may  trust 
To  shape  a  form  for  glory's  shrine, 
If,  ceasing  with  the  breathing  bust, 
He  leave  un wrought  the  brow  divine. 

"  How  oft  the  lavish  Muse  has  grieved 

O'er  hopes  thy  early  years  inspired  ; 
And  sighed  that  he  who  much  received, 
Forgot  that  much  would  be  required. 

"  But  not  too  late,  if  heeded  yet, 

The  voice  that  chides  thy  mute  repose, 


ONCE  ON  A    TIME.  2O/ 

And  bids  thee  pay  at  last  the  debt 
Thy  genius  to  Parnassus  owes. 

k  'Tis  not  enough  that  pride  may  urge 

Thy  claims  to  memory's  grateful  lore, 
And  boast,  as  rapt  from  Lethe's  surge, 
The  Suliote  and  the  Tuscarore. 

"  Nay,  bard,  thy  own  land's  mighty  dead 

Deserve  a  nobler  hymn  from  thee, 
Than  bravest  of  the  brave  that  bled 
At  Laspi  or  Thermopylae. 

"  Remember,  then,  thy  young  renown, 

Thy  country's  dead,  thy  Muse's  sigh  ; 
And  bid  thy  vigorous  manhood  crown 
What  youthful  genius  reared  so  high  !  " 


TO  VIRGINIA. 

lOTHER  of  Statesmen  !  scorn  to  wreak 

Thy  vengeance  on  a  fallen  foe  ; 
The  more,  for  that  he  turns  the  unblenched  cheek 
To  meet  the  deadly  blow. 

Recall  thy  sons'  heroic  stand 

The  tyrant's  haughty  rage  to  stem  ; 
Championed   by  him  whose  birthplace   makes  thy 
land 

Akin  to  Bethlehem. 

Undo  the  helpless  captive's  chain 

From  limbs  already  cramped  with  age  ; 

Let  not  his  gray  hairs  shame,  his  thin  blood  stain, 
Thy  history's  noble  page  ! 

Bid  him  go  forth  and  sin  no  more  ; 

But  give  to  prayer  and  penitence 
The  few,  fleet  moments  haply  yet  in  store, 

Ere  God  shall  call  him  hence. 

Though,  glorying  in  his  frenzied  deed, 
He  reck  not  how  the  blow  may  come  ; 

Crown  not  fanatic  error  with  the  meed 
Of  saintly  martyrdom  ! 

208 


THE  ENCHANTRESS. 

|lTH  pencil  dipped  in  richest  dyes 

That  flowery  fields  or  sunset  skies 
E'er  lavish  on  our  wondering  sight, 
She  touched  the  tablet's  spotless  white, 
And  lo,  such  forms  of  beauty  start 
To  life,  responsive  to  her  art, 
As  only  grace,  with  charms  supreme, 
The  Eden  of  a  poet's  dream  ! 
But  vain  were  poet's  happiest  phrase, 
In  happiest  mood  for  fondest  praise, 
To  symbolize  the  witching  spell 
Of  this  divine  art  miracle. 
Affrighted  by  the  prying  gaze 
And  tumult  of  these  boisterous  days, 
'Tis  said  the  Fairies  and  their  Queen 
Can  no  more,  anywhere,  be  seen 
Beneath  the  moon,  in  mead  or  dell, 
Though  all  the  world  watch  e'er  so  well. 
Not  so,  Enchantress  !  Fairy  Land, 
Restored  by  thy  creative  hand, 
Smiles  on  us  in  these  forms  and  hues, 
As  sweetly  as  on  Shakespeare's  muse 
209 


210  THE  ENCHANTRESS. 

It  smiled  by  Avon's  haunted  stream, 
In  that  most  sweet  Midsummer  Dream  : 
And  were  our  failing  sight  less  blurred 
With  unshed  tears  for  hopes  deferred. 
It  could  not  fail  to  recognize 
A  fairy  form,  and  fairy  eyes 
Outpeeping  from  each  covert  screen 
Of  leaves,  and  flowers,  and  mosses  green, 
De.picted  with  such  skill  divine, 
That  Nature  would  not  change  a  line. 


TO  NAPOLEON  THE  GREAT,    1848. 

|  IKE  the  peal  of  distant  thunder 

Booming  through  the  sullen  night  ; 
Like  the  earthquake's  rumbling  shudder 

Paling  cities  with  affright, 
Swells  the  roar  of  revolution 

Far  o'er  palaced  hills  and  plains, 
From  the  hearts  of  trampled  millions 

Blindly  bursting  from  their  chains. 

Oh,  for  one  of  lordly  presence, 

One  of  genius  all  sublime, 
On  whose  brow  in  light  were  written  : 

WORTHY  OF  THE  TASK  AND  TIME  ! 
Gloriously  to  solve  the  problem 

With  the  sword  of  CHARLEMAGNE  : 
"  What  shall  be  the  fate  of  Europe, 

Cossack  or  Republican  ?  " 

Llark  !  methinks  the  stifled  murmur 
Of  avenging  wrath  and  shame, 

211 


212  TO   NAPOLEON  THE  GREAT. 

Growing  to  articulate  utterance, 

Syllables  at  last  a  name  ; 
One  whilom  that  thrilled  the  tyrants 

With  a  more  than  mortal  dread  ; 
One  Valhalla's  proudest  welcomed, 

Mightiest  of  the  warrior  dead  ! 

Victor  in  a  hundred  battles, 

In  as  many  hostile  lands, 
'Twixt  the  Moskwa's  frozen  horrors 

And  Syene's  burning  sands  ; 
From  thy  bannered  mausoleum, 

Towering  o'er  the  mournful  Seine, 
Wakened  by  the  shout  of  nations, 

Burst  upon  the  scene  again  ! 

Not  in  pomp  of  royal  purple, 

Sceptre,  crown,  and  oriflamme, 
Such  as  erst  thy  triumph  blazoned 

In  resplendent  Notre-Dame  ; 
But  as  when  France  first  received  thee, 

Lord  of  humbled  Austria  ; 
Nobler  in  thy  plain  gray  saga, 

And  thy  simple  chapeau-bras. 

When  around  thy  surf-beat  dungeon 
Wildly  raved  the  midnight  blast, 

TETE  D'ARME"E  sublimed  the  tumult 
As  thy  stormier  spirit  passed  ! 


TO    NAPOLEON    THE  GREAT.  213 

How  sublimer  were  the  echo 

Of  thy  dying  words  to-day, 
Could  the  voice  of  mustering  millions 

Hail  thee  FREEDOM'S  Tete  d'armee  ! 

Wake,  O  wake,  then,  sworded  sleeper, 

From  thy  bivouac  of  death  ! 
Thou^  whose  nostril's  living  ether 

Was  the  cannon's  fiery  breath  : 
Lo  !  against  the  hosts  of  tyrants 

Freedom's  host  its  phalanx  knits — 
Wake,  and  to  the  People's  battle 

Bring  the  sun  of  Austerlitz  ! 

Never  yet  in  a*,  their  perils, 

All  their  agonies,  till  now, 
Have  they  needed  such  a  MENTOR, 

Such  a  present  MARS  as  thou, 
'Gainst  their  banded  foes  to  lead  them, 

With  thy  old  prophetic  trust, 
Till  the  last  of  throned  oppressors, 

Crushed  and  crownless,  bite  the  dust. 

Then,  resumed  thy  martial  cerements, 
Sleep  the  dreamless  sleep  again, 

In  thy  bannered  mausoleum, 

Towering  o'er  the  joyous  Seine  ; 

Hailed  with  grateful  REQUIESCAT, 
Breathed  from  every  peopled  clime : 

THIS  TIME  FAITHFUL  TO  HIS  MISSION, 

WORTHY  OF  HIS  TASK  SUBLIME  ! 


CENTENNIAL  ECHOES.* 

VERSES     READ     AT   THE    CELEBRATION    OF    THE     HUNDREDTH 
ANNIVERSARY    OF   LEE,    MASS.,    SEPTEMBER    13,    1877. 

|lND  friends,  if  idle  fame  has  raised 

The  pleasing  expectation, 
That  rhymes  of  mine  were  like  to  lend 

One  charm  to  this  occasion  ; 
Pray  do  not  blame  the  simple  bard 

For  his  compliant  ditty  ; 
But  charge  the  disappointment  all, 
To  your  insane  Committee  ! 

They  feared  no  lack  of  racy  "prose" 

Both  joyous  and  pathetic ; 
But  even  that  would  please  the  more, 

If  pranked  with  foil  poetic  ; 
And,  therefore,  have  I  greatly  dared 

To  face  your  focal  glances, 
While  my  decrepit  lyre  intones 

A  tale  of  rhythmic  fancies  : — 
214 


CENTENNIAL  ECHOES.  2 1  5 

The  scene  was  Nature's  model  vale, 

Where,  after  long  reflection, 
Like  Zeuxis,  she  had  grouped  ana  posed 

Each  borrowed  charm's  perfection — 
The  fairest  hills,  the  gayest  meads, 

The  clearest  lakes  and  fountains — 
And  set  the  living  picture  in 

A  frame  of  graceful  mountains. 

But  sons  of  that  first  woful  pair 

Who  brought  the  curse  of  toiling, 
Descried  the  wonder,  and  began 

Their  round  of  Eden-spoiling  ; 
They  felled  the  warbling  groves, and  gashed 

The  mountains'  silvan  towers  ; 
And  with  the  mattock,  scythe  and  share, 

Laid  low  the  friendless  flowers. 

The  Woodnymphs  and  the  Oreads,,  shocked 

At  such  dire  desecration, 
Caught  up  their  blackened  skirts,  and  fled 

Their  ancient  habitation, 
And  left  the  spoilers  to  pursue 

Their  chopping  and  their  charring, — 
Complete,  in  short,  their  perfect  work 

Of  universal  marring  ! 

But,  by  and  by,  when  things  were  grown 
Almost  beyond  enduring  ; 


2 1 6  CE N  TENNIA  L  E  CHOES. 

And  Nature's  wounds  seemed  past  all  hope 
Of  stanching,  much  less,  curing  ; 

There  came  a  Fairy  to  the  vale, 
Of  most  enchanting  presence, 

And  softly  stole  a  gracious  spell 
Upon  the  artless  peasants. 

Her  smile  was  like  the  purple  sheen 

That  plays  on  lake  and  river, 
When  laughing  ripples  glance  the  shafts 

From  Morning's  rosy  quiver  ; 
Her  voice  as  sweet  as  sweetest  harp's 

The  Summer  wind  just  kisses  ; 
And  witching  as  the  lays  that  charmed 

The  comrades  of  Ulysses. 

She  taught  them  that  the  moiling  swain 

May  find  sufficient  leisure 
To  nurse  a  sense  of  outward  grace, 

To  thrill  with  inward  pleasure  ; 
And  that,  in  all  the  walks  of  life, 

It  is  our  bounden  duty, 
So  far  as  in  us  lies,  to  veil 

A  blemish  with  a  beauty. 

They  heard  and  heeded  well  the  words 
That  clearest  Truth  reflected, 

Whose  simple  logic  rarely  fails 
To  make  her  law.s  respected  ; 


CENTENNIAL  ECHOES.  2 1/ 

And  soon  the  outraged  vale  began 

To  show  a  smart  improvement  ; 
For  manly  vigor  followed  up, 

As  woman  led  the  movement. 

To  blots  and  blemishes  anon 

The  change  proved  comi-tragic — 
Old  eyesores  vanished  from  the  scene, 

As  if  by  force  of  magic  ; 
The  barn  no  longer  with  the  home 

Stood  elbowing  for  precedence  ; 
But  meekly  showed  its  sense  of  right, 

By  complaisant  recedence. 

The  stable  stole  behind  the  barn  ; 

Remoter  still,  the  swine-yard  ; 
The  door-yard  spurned  its  further  use 

Of  chopping-place  and  kine-yard : 
While  cart,  sled,  buggy,  kennel,  coop, 

Decorum's  hardened  scorners, 
Turned  tail,  and  hid  themselves  away 

In  proper  holes  and  corners. 

At  last  the  Old  House  rubbed  its  eyes, 

And  blushed  to  see  how  shabby 
It  needs  must  look  in  gabardine 

So  threadbare,  torn,  and  drabby  ; 
And  thereupon  it  set  to  work 

With  earnest  perseverance, 


218  CENTENNIAL  ECHOES. 

Like  tattered  beau  resolved  to  show 
A  downright  spruce  appearance. 

Old  clapboard  lesions  straight  were  healed  ; 

Old  shingles  sloughed  their  mosses  ; 
New  panes,  instead  of  scarecrow  hats, 

Made  good  the  window's  losses  ; 
And  where  the  sun's  rude  eye  till  then 

Had  glared  its  bold  intrusion, 
Green  blinds  their  welcome  shadows  dropt 

Upon  the  dear  seclusion. 

And  vines  were  planted  by  the  door, — 

The  woodbine  or  clematis, — 
To  curtain  in  the  rustic  porch, 

And  drape  the  airy  lattice  ; 
And  trees  of  graceful  form  and  leaf 

Soon  waved  along  all  highways, 
And  sent  their  verdant  juniors  forth 

To  farthest  lanes  and  byways 

So  well,  that  e'en  at  highest  noon, 

When  June's  keen  solstice  blazes, 
And  not  a  Sylph  in  all  the  sky 

Her  silvery  sunshade  raises, 
From  end  to  end  of  that  fair  vale, 

Where'er  one's  promenadings, 
He  threads  long  arbors  fresh  and  cool 

With  elm  and  maple  shadings. 


CENTENNIAL  ECHOES.  219 

Yon  stream  that  makes  our  native  vales 

A  rival  land  of  Goshen, 
Erst  gathered  in  its  myriad  rills 

And  bore  them  back  to  ocean  ; 
Unused  in  all  its  willowy  course 

By  groves  of  pines  and  beeches, 
Save  where  the  Indian's  birch  canoe 

Went  idling  down  the  reaches. 

But  now,  where  near-confronting  hills 

Oppose  their  jutting  shoulders, 
Or  rended  crags  have  lined  the  shore 

With  dam-inviting  boulders  ; 
Behold,  the  valemen's  cunning  hands, 

The  struggling  Samson  binding, 
Bend  his  blind  strength  to  countless  tasks 

Of  spinning,  forging,  grinding  ! 

And  what  a  nobler  triumph  still, 

When  from  the  full-urned  mountains 
They  won  for  garden,  park,  and  lawn, 

The  flash  and  plash  of  fountains  ; 
And  bade  the  boon,  for  rich  and  poor 

Exhaustlessly  upwelling, 
A  pure  and  sure  Bethesda  bide 

In  every  village  dwelling  ! 

And  whereas,  erst,  no  careless  soul 
In  all  those  mangled  bowers, 


220  CENTENNIAL  ECHOES. 

E'er  waked  to  give  one  kindly  thought 
To  Eden's  exiled  flowers  ; 

There's  scarce  a  cotter  now,  but  will, 
By  dint  of  harder  toiling, 

Find  time  to  cherish  these  dear  waifs 
Of  Adam's  garden-spoiling. 

Nor  has  his  home-parterre  engrossed 

His  hard-earned  leisure  solely  ; 
Fondly  he  helps  to  dress  the  scene 

By  kindred  dust  made  holy  ; 
Till  'mid  the  verdure  and  the  bloom 

That  veil  life's  last  dark  portal, 
He  almost  smiles  to  view  the  bourne 

'Twixt  mortal  and  immortal. 

^ 

And  lo  !  how  fair  the  public  taste, 

To  match  the  general  brightness, 
Has  robed  the  village  church  near  by, 

In  stole  of  saintly  whiteness, 
Which,  thus  arrayed,  may  well  beseem 

To  eyes  of  pensive  weepers, 
The  earthly  tent  of  angels  sent 

To  guard  the  silent  sleepers. 

Thus  Grace  and  Dryad  came  again, 
And  with  them  came  the  Muses, 

Whose  blessed  office  is  to  teach 
That  life's  true  aims  and  uses 


CE N TENNIA L  E CHOE S.  221 

Are  not  best  shown  in  massing  gold, 

Or  multiplying  acres, 
Nor  lending  sacrilegious  hands 

To  beauty's  image-breakers  ; 

But  in  the  culture  of  the  mind, 

The  soul's  divine  emotions, 
Love,  faith,  peace,  sympathy  with  all 

Heroic  self-devotions  ; 
With  reverence  for  genuine  worth, 

No  matter  what  the  station 
Of  him  who  lifts  a  human  heart 

To  angel  aspiration. 

And  just  as  Nature's  face  improved, 

Improved  her  votaries'  faces, 
Grown  faithful  mirrors  to  reflect 

Her  humanizing  graces  ; 
While  gentle  manners  so  prevail, 

They  seal  the  fond  conviction, 
That  here,  at  least,  the  Golden  Age 

Is  no  poetic  fiction  ! 


THE  MOTHER'S  HOME-CALL. 

WRITTEN     BY     REQUEST     FOR    THE     "  BERKSHIRE    JUBILEE,'' 
AUGUST   22   AND    23,    1844. 

E  miss  the  swallow's  graceful  wing 

When  Autumn  leaves  grow  pale  and  sere, 
But  with  the  soft,  sweet  gales  of  Spring, 

Her  purple  plumes  again  appear  : 
Green  isles  that  crown  the  southern  main 
Smiled  sweetly  on  their  minstrel  guest ; 
Yet  all  their  gorgeous  charms  were  vain 
To  wean  her  from  her  mountain  nest 

But  ye,  whose  truant  feet  have  coursed 

Afar  o'er  alien  lands  and  seas, 
By  no  imperious  instinct  forced 

To  seek  for  sunnier  skies  than  these, — 
Why  turn  ye  not  ?  ah  !  wherefore  let 

Strange  scenes  your  charmed  fancies  bind  ? 
Ah  !  why  for  long,  long  years  forget 

The  homes  and  hearts  ye  left  behind  ? 

222 


THE  MOTHER'S  HOME-CALL.  22$ 

O  spurn  at  last  ambition's  chain 

Around  your  better  natures  wrought, 
Nor  longer  swell  the  eager  train 

Of  fame  or  fortune's  Juggernaut ! 
Return,  and  boyhood's  faded  Spring 

Shall  bloom  round  manhood's  homeward  track  ; 
And  memory's  refluent  sunshine  fling 

The  shadow  from  life's  dial  back  ! 

The  grove's  lone  aisles  shall  ring  again 

With  music  of  their  vernal  choirs, 
While  gaily  on  from  glen  to  glen 

The  wild  brooks  sweep  their  silvery  lyres  , 
And  love  shall  ply  her  tenderest  art, 

Sweet  home  her  sweetest  aspect  wear, 
That  wearied  mind  and  wounded  heart 

May  find  a  sure  Bethesda  there. 

Come  seek  the  scenes  of  boyish  glee, 

The  haunts  of  youth's  sedater  hours  ; 
And,  dearer  yet,  the  trysting-tree 

Still  sweet  with  love's  immortal  flowers. 
Come  muse  where  oft  in  years  gone  by, 

O'er  kindred  dust  ye  bent  the  knee  ; 
And  feel  'twere  scarcely  death  to  die, 

If  their  last  couch  your  own  might  be  I 


RESPONSE  OF  THE  RECALLED. 

]AIL,  Land  of  Green  Mountains  !  whose  val 
leys  and  streams 
Are  fair  as  the  Muse  ever  pictured  in  dreams  ; 
Where  the  stranger  oft  sighs  with  emotion  sincere  : 
"Ah,   would  that   my  own  native  home  had  been 
here  !  " 

Hail,  Land  of  the  lovely,  the  equal,  the  brave, 
Never  trod  by  the  foe,  never  tilled  by  the  slave  ; 
Where    the    lore    of    the    world    to    the   hamlet    is 

brought, 
And  speech  is  as  free  as  the  pinions  of  thought. 

But  blest  as  thou  art,  in  our  youth  we  gave  ear 
To  Hope  when  she  whispered  of   prospects  more 

dear ; 
Where  the  hills   and  the  vales  teem  with  garlands 

untold, 
And  the    rainbow  ne'er  flies  with    its   jewels    and 

gold! 

224 


RESPONSE  OF  THE  RECALLED.  22$ 

Yet  chide  not  too  harshly  thy  truants,  grown  gray 
In    the  chase    of   bright  phantoms    that   lured    us 

astray ; 

For  weary  and  lone  has  our  pilgrimage  been 
From  the  haunts  of  our  childhood,  the  graves  of 

our  kin. 

Nor  deem  that  with  us,  out  of  sight  out  of  mind 
Were  the  homes  and  the  hearts  we  left  saddened 

behind, 

As  the  hive  to  the  bee,  as  her  nest  to  the  dove, 
These,  these  have  been  ever  our  centre  of  love. 

Yes,  when  far  away  from  thee,  Land  of  our  birth, 
We  have  mused  mid  the  trophies  and  Tempes  of 

earth, 
Our  thoughts,  like  thy  spring-birds  flown  home  o'er 

the  sea, 
In  day-dreams  and   night-dreams   have  still  been 

with  thee. 


LIFE  BEYOND  LIFE. 

|E  walked  the  grand  old  halls 

From  whose  walls, 
In  the  golden  sunset's  wane, 
Looked  down  the  pride  of  Spain, 
Whom  the  pencil's  magic  dyes, 
Warm  as  Andalusian  skies, 
Had  embalmed,  in  age  or  prime, 
For  all  time. 

Far  round,  from  antique  frames, 

Courtly  dames, 
Senoritas,  young  and  bright 
(Conscious  queens  in  beauty's  right), 
Sceptred  monarch,  kneeling  page, 
Mitred  priest,  and  civic  sage, 
Knight,  and  bard  of  famous  lays, 
Met  our  gaze. 

In  this  presence  of  the  dead, 
Then  I  said 
226 


LIFE  BEYOND  LIFE.  227 

To  my  cowled  and  noary  guide : 

What  a  dream  is  human  pride  ! 
Life's  poor  sands,  how  few  and  fast ! 
Painted  phantoms  of  the  past, 
How  your  lips  of  vanished  breath 
Whisper  DEATH  !  " 

'  Ah,  no,  my  son  ;  no,  no  ; 

Say  not  so  !  " 

The  old  man  gently  sighed, 
This  is  life  to  life  denied  ! 
These  are  victors  over  DEATH, 
Hence  to  breathe  immortal  breath  ! 
We  the  dreams,  the  phantoms  we, 
Ay  de  mi  !  " 


LINES 

TO   A   FRIEND,  WITH   LATE    CHRYSANTHEMUMS. 

jHE  sunlight  falls  on  hill  and  dale 

With  slanter  beam  and  fainter  smile, 
And  brown  leaves  fleck  the  fitful  gale, 

Where  warbling  pinions  glanced  erewhile. 

Yet  these  fair  forms  of  orient  race 

Still  graced  my  garden's  faded  bowers, 

And  lent  to  Autumn's  mournful  face 
The  charm  of  Summer's  rosy  hours. 

When  hope  forsook  the  dying  year, 
They,  fond  and  faithful  to  the  last, 

Remained,  like  funeral  friends,  to  cheer 
The  void  from  which  the  loved  had  passed. 

Thus,  lady,  when  life's  lated  blight 
Has  paled  thy  dimples'  rosy  glow, 

Has  dimmed  thy  glances'  starry  light, 
And  flecked  thy  raven  locks  with  snow, 
228 


LINES  TO  A  FRIEND.  229 

Shall  love,  like  these  fair  lingerers,  seem 
Still  lovelier  than  its  vanished  prime  ; 

And  gild  with  purer,  holier  beam, 
The  waste  of  beauty's  Autumn  time  ! 


TO  WILLIE. 

|HILD  of  my  failing  years, 

Strength  is  denied  me 
On  through  life's  hopes  and  fears 

Farther  to  guide  thee  ! 
Yet  though  hands  fall  apart, 

Loving  souls,  never  ; 

Faithful  and  true  of  heart 

Death  cannot  sever  ! 

Thou  must  go  hence  alone, 

Whether  thy  path  lead 
Roughly  o'er  stock  and  stone, 

Smoothly  through  velvet  mead  ; 
Heartened,  that  rough  and  smooth, 

Watcher  and  sleeper, 
Castle,  and  cot,  and  booth, 

Have  the  same  Keeper  ! 

Strive  not  for  wealth,  but  right — 
Wealth  winged  for  fleeing  ! 
230 


TO   WILLIE.  231 


Helpless,  from  night  to  light, 

Came  we  on  being  ; 
Helpless,  from  light  to  night, 

We  must  go — whither  ? 
Riches  and  fame  and  might 

Follow  not  thither. 

Who  holds,  in  deed  and  word, 

All  men  his  neighbors  ; 
And,  called  of  Christ  our  Lord, 

Rests  from  his  labors, 
His  works  do  follow  him 

Through  the  dark  portal  ; 
Bless  him  and  hallow  him, 

Mortal  immortal  ! 


MISERERE. 

]LAS,  poor  anxious  breast  ! 

There  seems  nor  peace  nor  rest 
On  earth  for  thee — 
No  hope,  no  rest,  no  peace, 
Of  trouble  no  surcease, 
While  life  shall  be  ! 

I  yearn  unto  the  stars, 

As  through  cold  prison-bars, 

So  stern-,  so  strong  ; 
But  from  the  pitiless  sky 
There  cometh  no  reply 

To  my  "  how  long  !  " 

If  o'er  life's  hither  track 
To  youth  I  falter  back, 

What  waits  me  there, 
But  dust  of  perished  flowers, 
Spectres  of  murdered  hours, 

Remorse,  despair  ? 
232 


MISERERE.  233 

Ah  me  !  how  fain,  how  fain 
Would  I  begin  again 

That  hither  way  ; 
Whence  oft  my  heedless  soul 
From  duty's  forthright  goal 

Was  lured  astray ! 

But,  Fate  !  thou  wilt  not  give 
The  lost  years  to  relive, 

The  past,  repass  ; 
For  vital  sands,  once  run, 
No  power  beneath  the  sun 

Can  turn  the  glass. 

Then  let  the  precious  few, 
Unwasted  yet,  fall  true 

To  duty  all  ; 

That  with  the  last,  one  tear, 
Spontaneous  and  sincere, 

For  me  may  fall. 


WHEN? 

1HEN  shall  this  wan,  wayworn  Mortal, 

Heir  of  sorrow,  pain,  decay, 
Reach,  at  last,  the  friendly  portal 
Where  all  burdens  fall  away  ? 

Shall  it  be,  when  from  her  palace 
Smiles  the  morning's  roseate  queen  ? 

Or  when  noon  with  brimming  chalice 
Floods  the  world  with  dazzling  sheen  ? 

Or  when  day's  tumultuous  clamor 
Flies  the  weary  haunts  of  mer^ 

In  the  starry  hush  and  glamour 
Of  the  night,  shall  it  be  then  ? 

Truce  to  vain  interrogation  ! — 

Whoso  to  his  steps  gives  heed, 
And  through  travail  and  temptation 

Firmly  follows  duty's  lead  ; 
234 


WHEN?  235 

Lifts  the  fallen,  stays  the  erring, 
Wins  the  hopeless  from  despair, — 

All  he  can  on  all  conferring, — 

Why  should  he  mind  When  or  Where  ? 


LINES  TO  CLARA. 

I'VE  gazed  on  forms  whose  faultless  mold 
Seemed  lent  from  perfect  worlds  above, 
And  yet  my  heart,  unmoved  and  cold, 

Repelled  the  glow  of  love  ; 
And  thus,  while  others  fondly  praised 

Thy  beauty  and  thy  grace  divine, 
With  stoic  pride  I  careless  gazed, 
Nor  bowed  before  thy  shrine  : 

Nor  was  the  spell  that  binds  me  now, 

A  willing  victim  to  thy  thrall, 
Born  of  the  locks  that  round  thy  brow 

In  wreathed  darkness  fall  ; 
Nor  of  the  dimpled  loveliness 

Of  cheeks  as  tinted,  pure  and  fair, 
As  the  first  rose  that  blooms  to  bless 

The  Spring's  maternal  care  : 

Nor  of  the  beams  divinely  bright, 
That  play  within  thy  clear  dark  eyes, 
236 


LINES  TO  CLARA.  237 

Like  starry  brilliances  that  light 

The  gloom  of  midnight  skies  : 
Not  all  thy  dower  of  native  charms, 

Nor  all  thy  trophies  won  from,  art, 
Could  furnish  love  with  forceful  arms 

Against  my  guarded  heart. 

But  when,  like  some  frost-stricken  flower, 

The  brightest  in  the  fields  of  May, 
Thy  gentle  sister,  hour  by  hour, 

Seemed  fading  fast  away  ; 
And  thou,  with  sleepless  care  forlorn, 

Didst  watch  beside  her  couch  of  pain 
From  darkling  eve  till  brightening  morn, 

From  morn  till  eve  again  : 

Then  was  ambition's  tyrant  helm 

Struck    down    from    manhood's     passioned 

throne, 
And  o'er  my  heart's  recovered  realm, 

Love  made  thee  queen  alone  ! 
There  shalt  thou  reign,  whatever  lot 

Be  mine  on  time's  eventful  stream  ; 
The  theme  of  every  waking  thought, 

And  every  visioned  dream. 


TO  CLARA  AND  AGNES. 


as  I  came  last  night, 
Through  the  wintry  twilight  gray, 
Chanced  I  on  as  sweet  a  sight 
As  I  ever  saw  in  May. 

'Twas  a  little  Summer  scene 
In  the  lap  of  Winter  placed  ; 

Like  oasis  fresh  and  green, 
In  a  dreary  frozen  waste. 

All  beneath  a  glassy  roof, 

Though  the  snows  around  were  piled, 
In  its  covert,  winter-proof, 

Sweet  the  little  Eden  smiled. 

Then  I  blest  the  florist's  care, 
And  I  praised  his  happy  skill, 

Who,  when  all  was  bleak  and  bare, 
Could  have  store  of  flowers  at  will. 

And  I  thought,  how  all  might  take 
Lessons  from  the  floral  sage  ; 
238 


TO  CLARA  AND  AGNES.  239 

And,  with  prudent  forecast,  make 
Summer  grace  the  frosts  of  age  ; 

Make  a  greenhouse  in  the  breast 
For  the  flowers  of  hope  and  love, 

Till  the  gardens  of  the  blest 
Ope  to  welcome  them  above  ! 


DREAM  OF  RENT  SHACKLES. 

my  eyes,  dream-haunted  in  repose, 
Slowly  a  mighty  colosseum  fbse  ; 
With  which  confronted,  that  by  Tiber  piled 
Were  but  the  tiny  doll-house  of  a  child. 
And  as  I  gazed  the  circling  vastness,  lo  ! 
Came  thronging  in  from  all  the  winds  that  blow, 
An  ebon  multitude  of  every  age, 
As  if  all  Slavedom  were  on  pilgrimage 
To  some  blest  shrine,  where  scourge   and   chain  at 

last 
Should  fall  forever,  once  its  threshold  passed. 

Forlorn  yet  eager-eyed,  the  clanking  files 
Swarmed  the  broad   arches,  climbed   the    spacious 

aisles. 

Till  all  the  living  crater,  height  o'er  height, 
In  dumb  expectance,  wonder-struck  my  sight. 
Then  (so  the  dream  ran)  from  a  central  dais 
There  rose  a  man,  upon  whose  earnest  face, 
Homely  and  careworn,  shone  in  every  line 
The  human  reflex  of  a  soul  divine, 
240 


DREA  M  OF  REN  T  SHA  CKLE  S.  2  4 1 

And  cried  :     "  Henceforth,  through  all  the  years  to 

be, 

By  Freedom  rescued,  as  her  sons  be  free  !  " 
And  as  the  fiat  on  the  silence  swept, 
Instant  from  every  limb  the  shackle  leapt, 
Down-clanging  thunderous,  as  a  brazen  height 
Shivered  to  atoms  by  a  Titan's  might ; 
While,  like  an  outburst  of  the  storm-swept  sea, 
Swelled  the  wild  paean  :    "  Free  !   Forever  Free  !  " 


SALT  RIVER. 


SIGHT  to  behold  is  Salt  River  ! 

Where  Grant,  with  his  finishing  licks, 
Left  the  chivalry  all  of  a  shiver, 

Like  ghosts  by  the  under-world  Styx. 

The  stream — but  'tis  all  a  misnomer 

To  call  it  a  stream,  I  wis — 
Would  baffle  the  genius  of  Homer 

To  picture  it  just  as  it  is  : 

No  zephyr  its  surface  e'er  dimples  ; 

No  gay  fins,  up  darting,  there  glance  ; 
No  whispering  leafage  bewimples 

Its  desolate,  dreary  expanse. 

Dark  reaches  of  ooze-blackened  sedges 
The  hideous  shores  make  more  foul, 

While  thunder-scarred,  lichenless  ledges 
Athwart  the  weird  ugliness  scowl. 
242 


SALT  RIVER.  243 

As  I  gazed  at  these  terrible  features, 

Blue  gleaming  in  sulphurous  light, 
A  hulk,  crammed  with  woe-begone  creatures, 

Loomed  near  and  more  near  on  my  sight. 

The  craft,  to  my  wondering  vision, 

A  cross  seemed  'twixt  mud-scow  and  raft ; 

Propelled  by  rude  gusts  of  derision, 
And  simooms  of  curses  right  aft, 

Which  fluttered  the  half-mast  Palmetto, 
Where  symbolized  reptiles  abhorred 

Made  one  think  of  a  snake-lazaretto, 
With  grim  death  acoil  in  each  ward. 

But  the  crowd  of  the  Salt  River  clipper 

Eclipsed  in  forlornness  its  flag, — 
From  Lee  up  to  Davis,  the  skipper, 

And  down  to  Toombs,  Hampton  and  Bragg : 

All  solemn  and  silent  as  dummies, 

Chop-fallen,  cadaverous  elves, 
They  looked  just  like  galvanized  mummies 

Dismissed  to  rebury  themselves. 

As  they  faded  from  sight  in  the  distance, 
There  pealed  a  tremendous  guffaw  : 

Make  room  for  the  perjured  resistants 
Of  liberty,  loyalty,  law  ! 


244  SALT  RIVER. 

''•  Ay,  room  for  the  too  long  respited 

From  wrath's  pandemonian  rod — 
Let  the  traitors  to  Man  be  requited, 
As  erst  were  the  traitors  to  God  !  " 


CAPITOLIAN  SOLILOQUY. 

|O  Lincoln's  dead,  and  /  now  President ! — 

The  ways  of  Providence  are  dark  indeed  ; 
But  sages,  peering  through  the  gloom,  discern 
That  they  do  often  lead  to  shining  ends. 
Beyond  the  dead  Chief,  fallen  in  his  tracks 
While  groping  onward  with  uncertain  feet, 
I  see  a  beckoning  splendor  like  the  morn's  ! 
He  was  too  gentle,  too  infirm  of  will, 
To  meet  the  stern  exactions  of  the  time  ; 
And  so  the  patient  Wisdom  that  o'er-rules 
Men's  faults  and  failings  for  the  general  good, 
Removed  him,  as  was  meet  ;  and  in  his  stead, 
Set  one  who  hath  no  woman  in  his  soul, 
When  Justice  girds  him  with  her  awful  brand. 
Well  may  ye  shrink  and  tremble  at  the  flash 
Of  its  impending  vengeance  !  ye  who've  filled 
The  fairest  land  whereon  the  sun  e'er  shone, 
With  deeper  gloom  than  all  its  forests  shed 
Before  the  axe  first  smote  their  boundless  aisles. 
Behold  the  desolation  ye  have  wrought — 
The  countless  graves  your  bloody  hands  have  filled 
245 


246  CAPITOLIAN   SOLILOQUY. 

With  martyrs  battling  for  the  rights  of  man, — 
Ay,  even  yours,  who  slew  them  with  the  sword, 
Or  gave  them,  bound,  to  famine's  sharper  bale  ! 
Behold  the  widows  by  a  thousand  hearths, 
The  widowed  sweethearts — never  to  be  wives — 
From  whose  forlornness  hope  shall  ne'er  beguile 
The  sackcloth  and  the  ashes  of  despair  ! 
Behold  the  myriad  heroes  halt  and  maimed, 
That  but  for  your  demoniac  hate,  had  still 
Sustained  the  feeble,  faltering  steps  of  age  ; 
And  not  themselves,  in  manhood's  broken  prime, 
Been  shamed,  the  stalwart  on  the  weak  to  lean  ! 
These  are  the  wrecks  and  ruins  ye  have  wrought, 
Traitors  !  and  were  my  hand  to  stay  the  scourge 
That  should  make  treason  odious,  and  yourselves 
Abhorred,  methinks  the  very  stones  would  leap, 
The  groves   rush   forward  with   their  outstretched 

rods, 
To  wreak  the  justice  man  had  failed  to  do. 

What  was  that  whispered  in  my  ear  but  now  : 
"  Vengeance  is  sweet,  but  sweeter  far  is  power  "  ? 
Get  thee  behind  me,  Tempter  ! — Yet  who  knows 
'Twas  not  the  wiser  second  thought  that  spake  ? 
If  I  do  smite  the  smitten,  make  them  take 
The  back  seat  in  the  temple  they  profaned, 
They'll  storm  or  sulk,  nor  lend  a  beggar's  staff 
To  keep  me  steady  on  the  lofty  dais 
To  which  assassination  cleared  my  way. 


CAPITOLIAN  SOLILOQUY.  247 

But,  say  I  turn  my  back  upon  myself, 

Ignore  the  brave  words  fulmined  at  their  crimes, 

Ignore  my  solemn  promises  to  those 

Whose  faith  and  favor  made  me  what  I  am, 

Forgive  the  babblers  that  proclaimed  me  boor, 

And    hug   the    dear,    good   friends,    whose    fingers 

itched 

To  have  my  weasand  in  their  ready  noose, — 
Why,  then,  if  there  be  any  grace  at  all 
In  democratic  bosoms,  South  or  North, 
The  alienated  brothers  must  strike  hands, 
Fall  on  each  other's  neck  with  joyful  tears, 
And  make  the  author  of  their  making-up 
The  happiest  sequence  of  an  accident 
In  all  the  pregnant  histories  of  chance  ! 


INSURANCE  ECHOES  ! 

SAINT    PROMETHEUS. 

[ACH  Guild  a  sainted  patron  claims, 

And  strives  his  praise  to  show  forth — 
Saint    George,    Saint    Pat,    Saint    Nick,    Saint 

James, 

Saint  Jonathan  and  so  forth  ; 
But  ours,  we  hold,  must  stand  confest, 

Among  all  haloed  actors, 
The  grandest,  blandest,  brilliantest 
Of  sainted  benefactors. 

What  but  for  his  high-handed  act 

Were  now  our  genial  planet, 
But  one  inhospitable  tract 

Of  glacial  drift  and  granite  ? 
With  here  and  there  a  smokeless  hut, 

Where  clods  with  human  features 
Lay  hybernating,  stark  (all  but), 

As  Greenland's  torpid  creatures. 

fire  is  the  nutriment  we  crave, 
Yet  crave  in  modest  courses  ; 

248 


INSURANCE  ECHOES  I  249 

A  little  makes  us  strong  and  brave, 

A  surfeit  saps  our  forces  ; 
Our  eyeballs  flash  with  lurid  gleams 

From  fate's  volcanic  crashes, 
And  all  our  golden  hopes  and  dreams 

Are  turned  to  dust  and  ashes  ! 

Therefore,  dear  Saint,  give  wise  dissent 

To  unrestrained  fruition  ; 
We  flourish  most  in  time  of  Lent, 

But  perish  of  repletion  ; 
So,  when  your  bounty  falls  our  way, 

As  fate  or  chance  disposes, 
Dispense  your  fiery  favors,  pray, 

In  homoeopathic  doses  ! 

But  not  on  self  alone  to  build, 

Your  salamandrine  cravers, 
For  our  Big  Brothers  of  the  Guild 

Implore  coequal  favors — 
Ay  !  patriarchal  days  for  those 

Who,  ware  of  Time's  reverses, 
Prevent  their  darlings'  future  woes 

By  drafts  on  present  purses. 

To  Beauty  still  give  starry  eyes, 
And  soft  sheet-lightning  glances  ; 

And  in  her  lover's  tropic  sighs' 
Melt  all  her  frosty  fancies  ; 

To  Hymen's  torch  give  steadier  sheen, 
More  pure,  celestial  splendor, 


25O  INSURANCE  ECHOES J 

Than  earth  has  seen  since  Eden's  queen 
Made  love's  first  soul-surrender. 

"  This  sensible  warm  being  "  is 

The  boon  of  your  bestowing — 
Oh,  keep,  in  veins  and  arteries, 

The  vital  currents  flowing  ! 
Let  Health  the  silver  cords  of  life 

Make  long  and  strong  as  cables, 
To  mock  the  grim  old  Scyther's  knife, 

And  Carlisle's  mortal  tables. 

Why  should  Time's  later  children's  breath, 

Alas  !  be  so  uncertain  ? 
Scarce  step  we  on  the  stage,  ere  Death 

Lets  fall  the  sable  curtain  ; 
Whereas,  as  every  school-boy  knows, 

The  patriarchs  would  have  wondered 
At  Juliets  sparked  by  Romeos, 

Before  their  second  hundred  ! 

Let  Medicine's  modern  fountains,  then, 

Make  real  Ponce  de  Leon's  ; 
And  life's  poor  three  score  years  and  ten 

Claim  kinship  with  the  eons  ; 
While  premiums  pour  so  free  and  fast, 

As  countless  patrons  rain  them, 
That,  like  the  wondrous  u  books,"  at  last, 

The  world  could  scarce  contain  them  ! 


THE  POETRY  OF  FIRE  INSURANCE. 

jOME    dreamers  maintain,   as   a    matter    of 

fact, 
That   this   marvelous  wide  world    contains    not    a 

tract, 

Not  a  nooklet,  so  utterly  blasted  and  bare, 
That  a  poet  can't  still  find  some  beauty-spot  there. 

"  How  often,  as  Bruce  and  his  Nubian  band 

In  their  '  desert-ships  '  toiled  over  oceans  of  sand, 

Some    flower    of    the  waste,    like  a  waif   from  the 

skies, 

Thrilled  their  souls  to  the  quick  with  a  joyous  sur 
prise  ! 

"  When    Kane    made    his    home    on    that    desolate 

shore 

Unmarked  by  the  footprint  of  mortal  before, 
Gay  mosses  upsmiled  from  perennial  snows, 
And  budded   and  bloomed  where    his    quicksilver 

froze. 

251 


252       THE  POETRY  OF  FIRE  INSURANCE. 

"And  they  hold  that  the  truth  of  this  thesis  ob 
tains 

As  widely  in  man's  as  in  nature's  domains  ; 
That  the  Muse  never  found  so  degraded  a  race, 
Where  she  could  not  discern  some  aesthetical  trace. 

"  Well,  the  Seminole's  hut,  or  the  Hottentot's 
kraal, 

Perchance  may  some  faint  sense  of  beauty  re 
call  ; 

But  I'd  fain  like  to  know  what  poetical  thrill 

Was  ever  yet  due  to  a  Policy-mill  ? " 

And  you  shall  know,  anon,  my  incredulous  friend, 
If    those    rather    tall    ears    to    my    wisdom    you'll 

lend  ; 

For  the  theme  is  as  full,  this  respondent  conceives, 
Of  poetical  charms,  as  a  rosebud  of  leaves  : 

Whatever  is  lofty  in  nature  or  art  ; 
Whatever  is  lovely  in  mind  or  in  heart  ; 
Whate'er,  though  of  earth,  is  unearthy — behold, 
There  Poetry  points  to  her  placers  of  gold  ! 

Take  the  apposite  case  of  the  Asbestos  Co., 
With  its  surplus,  say  One,  with  five  ciphers  in    tow, 
Whence  the  Board,  every  half  year,  is  free  to  de 
clare 
Ten  to  twenty  per  cent. — isn't  there  poetry  there  ? 


THE  FOE  TR  Y  OF  FIRE  IN  SURA  NCE.     2$$ 

Lucretius  has  sung  of  the  landman's  delight, 
To  stand  all  secure  on  some  ocean-chafed  height, 
And  see,  while  the  tempest  remorselessly  raves, 
The  mariner  tossed  on  the  perilous  waves. 

But  who  the  poetical  rapture  can  tell, 

Of  a  President,  roused  by  the  City  Hall  bell 

To    some  warehouse    in    flames,  as    he   chuckles : 

"O-ho  ! 
Our  policy  there  expired  some  hours  ago  !  " 

And  there's  poetry,  too,  of  that  quizzical  kind 

By  critical  experts  SATIRIC  defined, 

As  he  says  to  his  friend  :   "  If  the  truth  were  but 

known, 
"  Your  policy  then  took  the  place  of  our  own  ! 

"  For  the  broker,  whose  favor  your  Board  still  en 
dures, 

Went  straight,  we  perceived,  from  our  counter  to 
yours ; 

We  felt  rather  vexed  of  the  risk  to  be  reft, 

But  our  loss,  o'er  the  right,  proves  your  gain,  o'er 
the  left  !  " 

When  a  Chatham   Street  queer-nose,  from   Pesth  or 

Cracow, 
"  Vants  ein  bolice  on  sthock  in  mein  sthore,"  so  and 

so; 


254      THE  POETRY  OF  FIRE  INSURANCE. 

How  tempers  poetical  license  the  shock 

Of  refusal,  with  "  Sir,  we  are  full  on  that  block." 

Just  see  how  the  answer  would  look  in  plain 
prose  : 

"  There's  the  door,  you  can  vanish — we  don't  fancy 
those 

Whose  catskins  turn  beaver,  whose  pinchbeck,  fine 
gold,  » 

If  a  spark,  ten  doors  off,  they  but  chance  to  be 
hold  !  " 

But,  friends  of  the  Guild,  to  leave  jesting  apart, 
And  return  to  the  sober  concerns  of  our  art ; 
I  am  free  to  declare,  as  my  settled  belief, 
That  we're  not  only  poets,  but  poets  in  chief. 

Let  Fame  call  her  roll  of  the  Lords  of  the  lyre, 
Who  for  ages  have  stood  at  the  head  of  the  choir  ; 
And  our  brilliant  Parnassus  shall  answer  her  thus  : 
Stuff  and   nonsense  !  they  can't  hold   a  candle  to 
us  ! 

Mass  all  the  grand  epics  the  trade  ever  sold 

(Your  Homers,  your  Dantes),  in  tissues  of  gold  ; 

And  the  expert  whose  home  the  Red  demon  de 
vours 

Wouldn't  take  the  whole  lot  for  his  five  lines  of 
ours. 


THE  POETRY  OF  LIFE  INSURANCE.     255 

He  has  but  to  mention  our  two-leaved  brochure — 
That  poem  of  poems  :  "  Do  HEREBY  INSURE," 
And,  presto  !  the  nightmare  of  ruin  takes  flight, 
Like  goblin  caught  napping  by  morn's  sudden  light. 

No  matter  how  far  his  "  burnt  district "  may  be 
From  the  Guild,  whose  long  arms  reach  from  centre 

to  sea  ; 

He  has  only  to  whisper  our  magical  strain, 
And  what  was,  but  is  not,  has  being  again. 

While  the  embers  yet  gleam  and  the  smoke  eddies 

still 
O'er  the   site  of  his  mansion,   shop,   warehouse,  or 

mill, 

Their  doubles  return  large  as  life  to  his  view, 
And  all,  Phcenix-like,  from  their  ashes  brand-new. 

Talk  of  authors  renowned  in  the  poetry  line 
For  their  odes,  and  their  paeans,  and  epics  divine  ; 
Why,   our  numbers  long   since  even    Milton's  dis 
crowned — 
For  one  Paradise  lost,  we've  writ  my  i\a.&s  found! 


THE    SAMSON    OF    THE    HEARTH. 

INGE  on  a  time  there  was  a  mighty  man 

Whose  strength  was  in  his  locks,  until  his 

foes 

Found  out  their  secret,  and  with  glozing  wiles 
Lured  them  away  ;  and  then  the  mighty  one 
Became  a  very  infant  in  their  hands. 
Yet,  mindful  of  his  prowess  in  the  past, 
They  held  him  firmly  bound,  nor  felt  secure 
Till  they  had  quenched  his  sight  in  utter  gloom. 
And  even  then  his  presence  awed  them  so, 
They  shrank  to  spurn  him  with  their  coward  feet 
While  prone  in  dust,  or  grinding  at  the  mill, 
Daily  and  all  day  long,  in  blind  despair. 
But  when  his  shredded  locks  were  grown  again, 
And  his  tormentors,  wild  with  insolent  mirth, 
Made  him  the  target  of  their  gibes  and  jeers, 
He  seized  the  pillars  that  upheld  the  fane, 
Profaned  by  their  inhuman  ribaldries, 
And,  with  one  wrench  of  his  resistless  might, 
Buried  the  mockers  and  the  mocked  in  death  ! 
256 


THE  SAMSON  OF  THE  HEARTH.         257 

I,  FIRE,  am  fellow  of  that  vengeful  slave  ; 

I,  the  Sun-born  !  to  whom  my  bright  sire  gave 

The  strength  and  glory  of  his  own  proud  locks, 

And  bade  me  share  my  gifts  with  all  his  worlds. 

Thought-swift,  I  glance  from  circling  orb  to  orb, 

And,  with  the  genial  splendor  of  my  smile, 

Clothe    hill,    vale,    peak,    cloud,    lake,  and  billowy 

sea. 

To  all  the  infinite  forms  within  my  scope 
I  bring  free  largess  ;  germ  and  bulb  and  root, 
Blind  worm,  and  torpid  chrysalis,  feel  my  touch 
The  wand  of  life  ;  the  meadows  laugh,  the  woods 
And  orchards  loose  their  buds  to  leaves,  and  flowers, 
And  fruits, — the  vital  gems  in  Flora's  crown. 
But  man,  the  insatiate  tyrant,  in  whose  heart 
Even  these  rich  guerdons  leave  an  aching  void, 
Conspired  my  thraldom,  and  with  subtle  arts 
Hath  brought  me  into  bondage  to  his  will. 
What  is  the  task  he  does  not  put  me  to — 
Me,  the  Sun-born  ?     For  him  /  grind  and  groan, 
Like  my  blind  brother  of  the  fateful  locks  ; 
I  am  his  vassal  of  the  caverned  mine, 
The  clanging  forge,  the  thund'rous  battle-field  ; 
For  him  I  melt  the  stubborn  rocks  to  streams 
Of  preciousness  ineffable ;  I  flash 
His  wants  and  wishes,  instant,  round  the  world  ; 
Drive  his  great  argosies  from  zone  to  zone  ; 
And  hold  the  torch  that  guides  their  darkling  way 
Along  the  perilous  clash  of  surge  and  shore. 


258  THE  SAMSON  OF  THE  HEARTH. 

Ay,  what  the  task  he  does  not  put  me  to  ? 
I  am  his  moiling  chattel  of  all  work  ; 
But  most  of  all,  the  bond-slave  of  his  hearth. 
There,  when  from  earliest  morn  to  latest  eve, 
I've  cheered  his  home  with  comfortable  warmth, 
And  light,  and  gladness,  and  have  blest  his  board 
With  viands  meet  to  tempt  the  taste  of  gods — 
Even  there  .and  then,  the  ingrate  heaps  my  locks 
With  stifling  ashes,  and,  without  a  thank 
Or  careless  "  good-night,"  yawns  him  off  to  bed  ! 
Then  have  I  time,  as  ever  the  fierce  will, 
To  study  vengeance  on  my  slumbering  foe. 
Unwatched,  I  watch  keen-eyed,  and  pry.  and  peer 
For  chink  or  cranny  in  my  prison-wall  ; 
And  long  and  listen  for  the  robber's  stealth, 
Or  wind's,  or  rodent's — ay,  for  anything 
To  loose  me  from  these  contumelious  bonds, 
And  cricket  mockers  of  my  smothered  wrath. 
Nor  always  long  in  vain  !  for  Accident, 
Though  shooting  wildly  without  mark  or  aim, 
Hath  such  exhaustless  quiver  to  his  bow, 
He  needs  must  send  a  random  shaft  at  last 
Just  where  my  wishes  pioneered  its  flight  ! 
And  when  his  lucky  arrow  hath  set  free 
My  fettered  limbs,  I  seize  on  aught  that  makes 
For  sure  enlargement — joist,  or  stud,  or  beam — 
And  ever  climbing  roofward,  fling  anon 
My  flaming  banner  to  the  rallying  winds. 
Ashes  for  ashes,  tyrants  !  on.  your  heads, 


THE  SAMSON  OF  THE  HEARTH.  259 

Lo,  now  the  gray  dishonors  pressed  on  mine  ! 

Peal  your  loud  larums,  all  your  powers  combine 

To  stay  the  unbound  Samson  of  the  hearth  ! 

Ha  !  how  I  mock  your  frantic  energies, 

I,  the  Sun-born  !  as  with  resistless  might 

I  trample  your  fair  homes  to  smoldering  dust  ; 

Trample  the  garnered  riches  of  all  climes, 

And    the    vast    piles    they    choked    from    crypt    to 

dome  ; 

Ay,  and  the  very  temples  of  your  gods, 
Where  your  young  brows  were  hallowed  at  the  font, 
Your    wedded    vows    sealed    sweet    with    orange- 
blooms, 

And  whence,  in  pallor  and  with  dirge  and  knell, 
Wept  or  unwept,  ye  pass  from  mortal  sight  ! 

Thus  do  I  visit  vengeance  on  my  foes  ! 

Thus     smite    their     braveries    with     my    crimson 

scourge  ! 

Sleepless,  I  watch  and  wait  the  time  and  chance 
To  magnify  the  might  of  my  dread  locks, 
In  fierce  requital  of  the  hoary  wrongs, 
Shames,  and  serf-shackles  I  have  borne  from  men. 
"  Ashes  for  ashes  !  "  is  the  script  I  write, — 
I,  the  Sun-born, — upon  the  human  waste, 
The  double  desert  of  their  homes  and  hopes  ! 


SAFE  AND  SOUND. 

NIGHT. 
A    SUBURBAN   VILLA. 

SOLIDUS  at  a    'esk  covered  with  papers. 

[HERE  !   1  have  carefully  gone  o'er 

From  first  to  last  the  precious  store, 
And  found  my  evening's  labor  crowned 
With  the  old  joy,   "  All  Safe  and  Sound '/" 
Men  risk  their  thousands  on  a  ship, 
That,  in  the  first  storm's  frantic  grip, 
May  be  o'ervvhelmed  or  dashed  ashore 
'  Mid  crash  and  shriek  and  brakers'  roar. 
Men  build  their  millions  into  walls 
Of  temples,  castles,  villas,  halls, 
For  Time's  slow  mills  (that  rest  nor  rust !) 
To  grind  into  their  primal  dust. 
And  whose  the  vast  statistic  lore 
Can  sum  the  mighty  millions  more 
Sown  broadcast  in  the  fields  of  life, 
For  comfort,  culture,  peace  or  strife  ? 
260 


SAFE  AND  SOUND,  261 

Of  all  the  sower's  varied  seed 

How  scant  the  harvest  !  if,  indeed, 

The  cast  do  not  so  luckless  fall, 

No  harvest  waits  his  hand  at  all  ! 

His  streams  give  out,  or  dams  give  way  ; 

His  workmen  strike  for  higher  pay  ; 

His  factories  burn,  or  boilers  burst  ; 

His  railroads  grow  from  worse  to  worst 

With  wear  and  tear  and  service  slack, 

And  cars  alert  to  jump  the  track 

And  rush  their  living  freight  to  death, 

Or  mulcts  whose  vastness  stops  his  breath  ; 

His  agents  filch,  his  bankers  fail, 

His  clerks  and  factors  take  leg-bail  ; 

His  gold  and  gilt-edged  turn  to  dross — 

How  oft  his  gains  are  gains  of  loss  ! 

Now,  look  at  these  Insurance  stocks  ! 

Here's  stanchness  ! — here,  indeed,  are  "  rocks" 

Whose  calm  stability  derides 

The  utmost  brunt  of  time  and  tides  ; 

While  from  their  generous  lap  descends 

A  brilliant  stream  of  dividends. 

Who  would  not  have  a  vested  right 

In  such  a  fountain  of  delight 

His  pocket's  present  thirst  to  suage, 

And  mock  the  keener  drouth  of  age  ? 

Scarce  than  an  angel  seems  he  less, 

Who,  in  his  depths  of  consciousness 


262  SAFE  AND  SOUND. 

(As  in  the  block  the  sculptor  sees 
The  statue  that  all  eyes  shall  please), 
First  saw  Insurance,  and  straightway 
Revealed  her  glories  to  the  day. 
Insurance — that  which  makes  one  sure, 
Firm,  fearless,  stable,  safe,  secure  ! 
What  else  of  all  life's  fond  pursuits 
Is  blest  with  half  these  attributes  ? 
And  where  does  any  mortal  know 
The  peer  of  our  ASBESTOS  Co.; 
With  capital  of  mammoth  size, 
And  surplus  marvelous  likewise  ? 
Then,  too,  its  corps  of  officers — 
All  nonpareil  philosophers, — 
With  grandest  gift  of  second-sight 
To  pierce  the  future's  blackest  night  : 
They  saw  Chicago's  latent  flame 
Long  years  before  the  outburst  came  ; 
Saw  its  vast  piles  in  ruin  fall, 
And  desolation  brooding  all, 
Where  pealed,  but  now,  the  din  of  trade, 
And  life  seemed  one  long  masquerade — 
They  saw  it  all  with  wise  alarm, 
And  kept  a  thousand  miles  from  harm  ; 
So  that  when  burst  the  fire-storm  there, 
No  scrip  of  theirs  got  singed  a  hair  ! 


O  seers  of  ashes  yet  to  be  ! 
O  pets  of  perspicacity  ! 


SAFE  AND  SOUND.  263 

Ye  were  too  serpent-shrewd  by  far 

To  be  befooled  as  myops  are  ; 

Or  lured,  like  moths,  to  dire  distress 

By  risks  of  dazzling  speciousness  ! 

As  charity  begins  at  home, 

Your  "lines"  all  hug  the  State-House  dome, 

That  from  its  sov'reign  height  looks  down 

On  every  inch  of  Boston  town. 

Its  streets  are,  sooth,  but  winding  lanes 

Vertiginous  to  stranger  brains  ; 

But  then  for  width  they  make  amends 

By  peaks    that  court  the  clouds  for  friends  ; 

Each  member  of  the  massive  pile 

Made  grander  with  his  Mansard  "tile." 

There  Commerce  heaps  her  varied  store, 

In  compact  millions,  floor  on  floor, 

Whence  living  streams  of  premiums  flow 

To  our  wrorld-famed  ASBESTOS  Co. 

True,  rates  are  low,  commissions  high, 

And  competition  sharp  and  spry  ; 

But,  then,  the  Hub  may  justly  boast, 

Each  Red-Shirt  is  himself  a  host, 

Each  engine  a  tamed  cataract, — 

Niagara  on  wheels,  in  fact  ; 

Where  every  risk  is  granite-clad 

(Safer  old  Petra  never  had  !)  ; 

Where  products  of  stupendous  worth 

Of  all  the  industries  of  earth 

May  fire  and  flame  as  calmly  brave 

As  merman  in  his  deep-sea  cave. 


264  SAFE  AND  SOUND. 

But  hark  ! — what  does  that  newsboy  cry  ? 
"  Boston  all  burning  ?  " — What  a  lie  ! — 
(Kling,  ling  !) — Ah  !  here's  a  telegram. 

(Messenger,  aside .) 

Guess  boss'll  think,  if  not  say,  damn  ! " 
(Reads.) 

"  Boston  in  flames  from  end  to  end  ! — 
Whole  blocks  in  ashes  ! — worse,  my  friend  , 
Our  venerable  ASBESTOS  Co. 
Went  up  (no,  down)  an  hour  ago  ! — 
Its  scrip  not  worth  a  copper's  toss  ; 
Claimants — we  can't  pay  half  their  loss  !  " 

Saddle  my  swiftest,  ho,  you,  sir  ! 

I  must  to  town,  John,  whip  and  spur  ! 

Fire  may,  perhaps,  melt  granite  blocks, 

But  that  my  staid  Insurance  stocks 

To  ashes  could  be  made  to  fall 

(Asbestos  ashes  least  of  all  !) 

Is  matter  for  supreme  surprise  ; 

See  it  I  must  with  my  own  eyes, 

Or  hold  it  but  a  fable,  though 

With  her  own  lips  Truth  swear,  'Tis  so  ! 


THE  PROMETHEAN  FLAME. 

|HEN,  long,  long  ago,  on  Olympus  sublime 
Gods  and  goddesses  led  a  right  jolly  old 

time, 

With  nectar  for  champagne,  ambrosia  for  bread, 
And  amaranths  crowning  each  aureoled  head, 
As  they  feasted  and  chatted  o'er  partisan  leagues, 
Or  gave  the  bright  hours  to  erotic  intrigues, 
They  had  no  more  regard  for  poor  humans  down 

here, 
Than  our  city  gods  have  for  the  muttons  they  shear. 

At  last  it  befel  that  lapetus'  son, 
Whose  heart  took  no  part  in  this  frolic  and  fun, 
Gazed  mournfully  far  through  the  nether  abyss, 
As  an  angel  might  gaze  on  the  exiled  from  bliss. 
Say,  wherefore  do  tears  dim  those  piteous  eyes  ? 
Ah,  why   should   the  breast   of  a   god   heave   with 

sighs  ? 
Would  you  know  ?  on   the  pinions   of   Fancy  take 

flight, 

And  see  for  yourself  what  so  saddened  his  sight. 
265 


266  THE  PROMETHEAN  FLAME. 

Lo,  Earth  lies  before  you  in  horror  outspread, 
Cold,  ghastly,  and  still,  as  the  face  of  the  dead  ; 
Her  mountains  all  swathed  in  parennial  snows, 
Whose  pallor  the  morn  scarcely  flushes  with  rose  ; 
No  peak  to  the  night  its  red  banner  uplifts, 
Or   with    smoke    veils    the    glare    of   its    pinnacled 

drifts  ; 

No  surge  breaks  in  thunder  on  sea-wall  or  shore, 
For  the  vast  of  her  oceans  is  ice  to  the  core  ; 
And  the  murmur  of  rivers,  the  outlaugh  of  rills, 
No  longer  rejoices  her  valleys  and  hills  ; 
While  her  cataracts,  fast  in  weird  fetters  of  frost, 
In  a  trance  of  white  silence  their  voices  have  lost. 

Then  he,  from  whose  heart  the  warm  tears  had  up- 
welled, 

As  this  desolate  waste  of  a  world  he  beheld, 
Cried  fondly  :  "  O  Lord  of  Olympus  !   restore 
The  light  of  thy  smile  to  yon  outcast  once  more  . 
Ah,  see  how  Spring,  Summer,  and  Autumn  are  fled 
From  the  scenes  where  their  beauty  and  blessings 

were  shed  ! 

While  Winter  has  stretched  his  usurping  domains 
North  to  South,  South  to  North,  over  green  hills 

and  plains, 

Till  stark  o'er  the  tropics  his  cold  sceptre  gleams, 
And  but  one  zone  now  links  the  far  polar  extremes  ! 
Oh,  pity  thy  low-lying  children  of  Earth, 
As  in  torpor  they  dream  by  the  emberless  hearth, 


THE  PROMETHEAN  FLAME.  267 

Whence  no  smoke-wreath  by  day,  no  dear  glimmer 

by  night 

Gives  token  of  comfort  or  social  delight , 
And  the  voice  of  affection  in  cottage  and  hall, 
Is  still  as  the  cold  lips  low  under  the  pall ! 
Save  a  moan  here  and  there,  all  thy  Earth-world  is 

dumb — 

No  peal  of  the  bugle,  no  roll  of  the  drum, 
No  ring  of  the  anvil,  no  hum  of  the  mill, 
No  cheer  of  blithe  labor  from  valley  or  hill, 
No  roar  of  thronged  cities,  no  pathos  of  prayer, 
Sends  a  thrill  to  the  soul  of  the  desolate  air. 

u  Ah,  lord  of  all  worlds  and  their  dwellers  !  be 
hold 

Thine  altars  are  nameless,  thy  censers  are  cold  ; 

No  garlanded  victim  is  led  to  thy  doors  ; 

No  chalice  its  sacred  libation  outpours  ; 

And  Flamen  and  Vestal,  o'erwhelmed  by  thy  scorn, 

In  pallor  and  darkness  lie  mute  and  forlorn. 

Oh,  questionless  monarch  of  mortals  and  gods  ! 

Have  pity  at  last  on  these  human-faced  clods  ; 

With  thy  bright  boon  of  fire  hallow  dwelling  and 
fane, 

And  let  Earth's  palsied  wastes  thrill  with  rapture 
again  !  " 

Alas  !  like  the  dew  on  some  sand-smothered  space, 
Or  the  cloud's  flying  kiss  on  the  crag's  iron  face, 


268  THE  PROMETHEAN  FLAME. 

Fell  the  voice  of  the  pleader  on  Jove's  careless  ear  ; 
For  it   chanced  that,  just   then,  a  young  goddess 

smiled  near, 

And  of  course  his  High-mightiness  could  not  bestow 
A  thought  on  his  victims  there  under  the  snow. 

Indignant  to  find  that  his  merciful  zeal 

Could  win  no  response  to  his  yearning  appeal, 

He  snatched  a  live  brand  from  the  god's  golden 

hearth, 

And  sped  the  bright  spoil  toward  the  dolorous  Earth. 
Ere  he  touched  her  cold  bosom,  its  life-kindling  rays 
Have  set  her  extinguished  volcanoes  ablaze  ; 
And   the   long-silenced   voice  of  her  ice-cumbered 

streams 

Breaks  out,  like  a  bird's,  in  the  rapture  of  dreams ; 
While  the  great  heart  of  Ocean,  transpierced  by  the 

glow 

Of  that  meteor-flame,  feels  a  jubilant  throe  ; 
And  hark  !  how  the  rhythm  of  its  pulse-beat  once 

more 
Sends  the  tidings  of  joy  to  his  uttermost  shore  ! 

And  see  !  as  from  headland  to  headland  he  hies, 

Ho\v  the  dead  beacons  flash  their  electric  surprise 

Far  forth,  far  around,  over  offing  and  bay, 

And  Darkness,  dethroned,  shrinks  bewildered  away  ! 

As  onward  he  bears  the  glad  largess  of  light, 

All  Lares  grow  cheery,  all  hearths  warm  and  bright ; 


THE  PROMETHEAN  FLAME.  269 

And  tea-kettles  warble  their  long-silenced  strains  ; 
And    sparking-lamps     shine    for    love's    lingering 

swains  ; 

And  foundry  and  forge  smite  the  resonant  air 
With  clangor,  and  flame,  and  Cyclopean  glare  ; 
While  the  fierce  iron-horse,  as  he  dashes  away, 
Shakes  the  echoing  hills  with  his  terrible  neigh. 

As  the  torch-bearer  bursts  on  this  Gotham  of  ours, 
And  the  genial  glow,  mantling  turrets  and  towers, 
Thaws  the  hoar  that,  for  ages,  had  hidden  from  sight 
Their  red-brick  and  brown-stone  in  cerements  of 

white, 

Old  Santa  Glaus,  roused  from  his  centuried  spell, 
Sprang  up  and  made  tracks  for  the  City-Hall  bell, 
And  giving  full  force  to  his  vigorous  arm, 
Made  Night  hold  her  ears  at  the  stunning  alarm. 
And,  wonder  of  wonderful  sights  !  what  are  those 
That  leap  like  red  ghosts  from  yon  hummocks  of 

snows  ? 
How  they  stare  through  the  rime  that  bewimples 

their  eyes  ! 
How  they  beat  their  numb  hands   against  thorax 

and  thighs  ! 
How  they  listen  and    count    the    quick    strokes — 

' three !  five  !  ten  ! ' 
Why,  bless  our  dull  wits,  these  are  Mose  and  his 

men  ! 

And  hark  !  with  what  lungs  most  potential  of  noise, 
He  trumpets,  "Be  lively  now  ;  jump  her,  my  boys  !  " 


2/0  THE  PROMETHEAN  FLAME. 

Or,  with  big  mouth  \&  good  deal  more  open  than 

shut) 
Thunders,    "  Sikesy,  you   son  of   a  snail,  take  the 

but !  " 

And  away  they  tear  crashing  o'er  cobble  and  flag, 
As  if   fifty  spurred   Dexters   strained   hard   at   the 

drag. 

But  the  sight  which  the  climax  of  wonder  awoke, 

Was  the  guild  of  the  resurrect  Policy-folk, 

Of  whose  torpor-struck  hosts  not  a  frost-bitten  soul 

For  ages  had  taken  one  premium  toll  ; 

For  their  customers,  stark  in  the  general  chill, 

Sent  never  the  ghost  of  a  grist  to  the  mill. 

But  lo  !  now  the  wintry  embargo  is  o'er, 

How  jolly  the  sound  of  the  grinding  once  more  ! 

For  patrons  and  brokers  are  thick  as  you  please, 

And  the  millers,  you  bet,  all  more  busy  than  bees, 

As  city  and  country  their  hoppers  astound 

With  mountains  of  risks  all  agog  to  be  ground  ! 

Oh  ye,  whom  the  Bringer  of  Fire  has  thus  blest, 
Let  his  name  and  his  fame  on  your  hearts  be  im 
prest  ; 

Or,  rather,  burnt  into  their  innermost  core, 
For  time  to  erase  or  deface  never  more. 
And  I  move,  sir,  that  now  every  glass  shall  be  filled 
To  him  who  so  specially  favored  our  guild 
With  that  flambeau  divine,  that  beneficent  thaw — 
Three  cheers  for  Prometheus — hip,  hip,  hurrah  ! 


SONNET. 

SUGGESTED    BY     A   VIEW    OF     SWAN    POINT    CEMETERY, 
PROVIDENCE,   R.    I. 

]IVER,  that  lingerest  in  thy  blithe  career 
From  the  blue  mountains  to  the   dark  blue 
sea, 

To  list  the  passing-bell's  stern  monody, 
And  love's  lorn  wail  beside   the  loved   one's  bier — 
Say  to  the  careless  worldling  sauntering  near  : 
"  Speak  low  !  step  softly  !  as  in  awe  profound  ; 
For,  know  thou,  this  indeed  is  holy  ground, 
Planted  by  God  for  his  great  Harvest  Year. 
He  will  not  let  his  seed  forever  lie, 
Germless  and  dead,  within  the  stifling  mold  ! 
Though  sown  in  weakness,  it  shall  safe  defy 
The  worm,  the  storm,  the  Seasons'  heat   and  cold  ; 
And,  in  due  time,  from  out  the  dust  arise 
To  his  eternal  garner  of  the  skies  !  " 


271 


SONNET. 

|FT,  never,  lady,  can  we  hope  to  stand 

Acquitted  debtors  for  the  kindness  done 
By  thee  and  thine  to  our  beloved  one, 
When,  lorn  and  friendless,  in  the  alien  land, 
She  felt  the  warm  clasp  of  your  gentle  hand, 
And  heard  fond  words  whose  music   seemed  to  be 
Home's  own  dear  echoes  from  beyond  the  sea* 
Sweeter  than  gales  from  flowery  Samarcand  ! 
Oh,  that,  for  once,  were  ours  the  magic  art, 
In  dearth  of  hopeless  ingots  of  the  mine, 
To  coin  the  golden  wishes  of  the  heart, 
And  grace  the  mintage  with  thy  face  divine — 
What  precious  stores  our  bosoms  would  impart  ! 
What  sumless  coffers,  lady,  then  were  thine  ! 


272 


SONNET. 

1HEN  shall  the  free  in   name  be  free  indeed ; 
Nor  thou,  my  country,  blush  to  own  us  sons, 
In  whose  degenerate  bosoms  coldly  runs 
The  blood  of  heroes  whose  immortal  meed 
Was  benison  of  trampled  millions  freed  ? 
Blind  slaves  of  this  or  that  discordant  clan, 
We  sink  the  patriot  in  the  partisan, 
And  shout  when  friends,  not  principles,  succeed, 
With  sword  and  shield  our  fathers  met  the  foe  ; 
With  tongue  and  pen  we  battle  with  our  brother, 
And  madly  strive  to  stigmatise  each  other 
With  uncouth  names,  worn  threadbare  long  ago. 
In  alien  clash  of  whig  and  tory  creed — 
Oh,  when  shall  free-born  men  be  free  indeed  ! 


273 


SONNET. 

TO   A   BEREAVED    MOTHER. 

|ORN  mother  of  a  young  Immortal,  fled 

So  soon  from   thy  fond  arms   and   wistful 
eyes  ! 

Who  shall  reprove  thy  ever-yearning  sighs, 
Or  bid  the  bitter  tears  remain  unshed  ? 
He  was  thy  first-born,  and  his  beauty  fed 
Thy  soul  with  manna  from  love's  sweetest  skies, 
Nor  couldst  thou  deem  a  cherub  in  disguise 
Lay  smiling  on  thee  from  his  cradle  bed. 
Thou  couldst  not  see,  within  the  moulded  clay, 
The  spirit's  wings  their  latent  splendors  dart  ; 
Nor  hear  the  missioned  angels  fondly  say 
To  the  pale  shape  so  clasped  to  thy  sad  heart  : 
"  A  throne  is  waiting  in  the  realms  of  day — 
King  of  a  new-born  Sphere,  let  us  depart  !  " 


274 


DEAN  STANLEY. 
IITH  grave,  frank  smile  he   took  me  by  the 


,=*= 

And  gently  earnest,  drew  me  to  his  side — 

He,  the  great  scholar  of  renown  world-wide  ; 
Me,  all  unknown  even  in  my  native  land — 
And  as  I,  listening,  gazed  upon  his  face, 
So  wise,  so  winsome,  yet  so  saintly  grand, 
I  longed  that  pride  the  charm  might  understand 
Of  perfect  goodness  and  unconscious  grace. 
Then  memory  whispered  :  "  Marvel  not  that  one, 
Whose  life  in  England's  Pantheon  is  passed, 
Should  find  his  kindred  genius  clothed  upon 
With  the  effulgent  glories  round  him  cast, 
That  fill  the  mighty  minster's  solemn  pile 
From  crypt  to  cross,  as  with  an  angel's  smile  !  " 


275 


THE  ANABASIS. 

Sursum  deorsum. — JJlatitus. 
OpGOpSl    d'ovpavoOev    BovZ. — Homer  (mostly). 

GENE,   and    Frank,   and    I,   three    bosom- 
friends, 

Stood  gaily  chatting  by  the  college-door, 
What  time  our  merry  mates,  a  furlong  off, 
Made  the  gymnasium  ring  with  boisterous  glee, 
As  was  their  wont  before  the  evening  task. 
Behind  the  curtain  of  the  western  hills 
The  weary  sun  had  sought  his  golden  couch  ; 
But,  eastward  still,  athwart  the  shadowed  vale, 
His  passing  glory  flushed  the  lifted  brow 
'Of  cloud-communing  Graylock,  as  he  stood 
With  all  his  pines  on  tiptoe,  gazing  down 
Upon  his  brother  Titan's  gorgeous  bed. 

As  gradual  twilight  deepened  round  us  there 
Commingling  blithe  discourse,  the  deacon's  cow, 
A  buxom  beast,  stole  forth  upon  the  lawn 
276 


THE  ANABASIS,  277 

To  snatch  the  dewy  verdure,  in  such  sort 
As  one  by  sharp  experience  made  too  wise 
To  eke  fruition  of  forbidden  fruit. 
Then  Frank,  with  roguish  gravity  :    "  My  friends, 
The  good  time  coming  is  already  come  ! 
Our  railroad  age  has  sped  improvement's  car 
To  cot,  to  hovel,  yea  to  stall  and  byre  ! 
Baboons  are  taught  to  sit  at  festive  board  ; 
Bruin  to  dance  the  minuet  ;  and  I  move 
That  yonder  cow  be  favored  with  a  chance 
To  rise  above  the  commonwealth  of  kine, 
And  stand,  sublimely  ruminant,  on  heights 
Ne'er  scaled  by  bovine  neophyte  before  !  " 

No  sooner  said,  than,  with  a  smothered  burst, 

I  seized  the  tether  trailing  from  her  horns  ; 

While  Frank,  like  Palinurus  at  his  helm, 

Gravely  officious,  plied  the  tillered  tail. 

No  grass,  I  ween,  did  grow  beneath  her  feet, 

Ere  we  had  cleared  the  threshold  with  our  charge  ; 

When  taking  breath,  and  having  skyward  turned 

Her  white-rimmed  vision,  up  a  zig-zag  flight 

Of  four-score  stairs  we  eased  our  panting  prize, 

From  landing  unto  landing  stumbling  up, 

With  such  reverberate  racket  in  the  void 

And  long-drawn  corridors,  as  well  might  drown 

A  band  of  Feejee  tomtoms  in  full  thud. 

Now,  as  it  chanced,  the  Tutor  was  abroad, 
But  not  nis  key,  which,  nimbly  seized  and  plied, 


2/8  THE  ANABASIS. 

Gave  access  to  his  sanctum  in  a  trice, 
Thither  we  urged  his  uninvited  guest, 
Whom  leaving  with  the  Lares,  off  we  sped, 
Each  to  his  several  chamber,  sorely  tasked 
To  smooth  rebellious  wrinkles,  and  suppress 
Guffaws  that  wrestled  with  the  aching  ribs, 
And  shook  the  central  diaphragm  for  vent, 
As  erst  the  prisoned  winds  old  ^Eol's  cave. 

Soon  pealed  the  bell  for  evening  tasks  ;  but  scarce 

The  buzzing  swarm  had  settled  in  the  hive, 

Ere  came  the  Tutor  round  from  room  to  room, 

Beseeching  aid,  with  face  all  crisp  with  smiles  : 

For  that  a  strange  alumnus  had  made  bold 

To  scale  his  lofty  sanctum,  and  install 

A  most  uncouth,  unclassic  presence  there. 

Anon  the  halls  were  thronged  with  flaring  lamps, 

As  Pandemonium  for  a  torch-light  spree 

Had  mustered  all  its  imps  ;  and  when  the  shout 

Excelsior  echoed,  up  the  oaken  heights 

Two  hundred  heels  went  thundering  all  at  once, 

Four  stairs  at  every  bound,  and  yells  to  ] natch — 

A  din  to  make  an  adder  hold  his  ears. 

Just  as  the  fore-front  reached  the  Tutor's  door, 
There  came  a  crash,  as  of  a  dome  of  glass 
Shivered  to  atoms  by  a  giant's  rage  ; 
For  when  the  beast,  already  sore  amazed, 
Beheld  the  goblin  rout,  and  drank  the  glare 


THE  ANABASIS.  279 

Of  those  weird  lights,  stark  mad  with  panic  fear, 

She  plunged  the  dizzy  casement  at  a  bound, 

And  swept  sash,  blinds  and  all  to  outer  night  ! 

But  kindly  fates  outsped  her,  and  received 

The  hairy  meteor  in  the  buoyant  arms 

Of  a  subjacent  maple,  where  she  hung 

Pawing  the  rustling  verdure,  as  it  were 

A  monster  floundering  in  a  green  morass. 

Soon    lanterns    gleamed    abroad,    and    ropes    were 

plied, 

And  those  four  sturdy  legs,  restored  to  earth, 
Dashed  off  without  a  limp  in  all  their  bones, 
The  sequent  tail  outstanding  straight  behind  ! 


ALUMNUS    AND    ALMA  MATER. 

LINES     READ     AT     THE     DEDICATION     OF     THE     NEW 
CHAPEL,  WILLIAMS    COLLEGE,  AUGUST,   1859. 

|N  a  certain  quaint  town  o'er  the  Canada  line, 
While  "  looking  about,"  as  a  Yankee  is  wont, 
I  presently  found  myself  posed  to  divine 
The  use  of  a  grim-visaged  pile  in  my  front. 

After  gazing  awhile  at  the  mystical  wall, 
I  bowed  myself  in  at  its  fortress-like  door  ; 

And  lo  !  the  whole  space  of  a  half-acre  hall 
Was  swarming  alive  with  an  infantile  corps. 

For  breastplates  they  all  sported  white  cotton  bibs 
Over  pinafores  fragrant  with  indigo  blue  ; 

And  Fancy  at  once  fell  to  tickling  her  ribs 
With  the  guess  of  a  National  Baby  Review. 

Composing  my  face,  till  no  trace  of  a  smile 

Showed  that  fun  ever  rippled  its  deacon-like  calm, 
280 


ALUMNUS  AND  ALMA  MATER.  28 1 

Quoth  I  to  the  fair  chief  on  duty  the  while  :• 

'*  Are    all    these, — excuse     me, — your    children, 
madame  ? " 

Up  flew  the  plump  arms  with  :  "  Ma  foi,  quelle  me- 
prise  !  " 

And  a  flush  that  almost  set  her  coiffure  ablaze — 
"  Ce  sont  d' en  fans  trouvJs,  moi,  fille  de  I'eglise, 

N on  pas  mire  de  famille,  a  dieu  quit  ne  plaise  /" 

Slight  cause  to  get  miffed,  friends,  had  mademoi 
selle— 

For,  if  of  a  good  thing  one  can't  have  too  much, 
One  can't  have  too  many  a  good  thing  as  well, 
And,  for  my  part,  I  hold  that  the   yonkers   are 
such. 

{Interrupted  by  a  -voice.) 

"  So  do   I,   too  !  "     "  And,  pray,  who  are  you  that 

make  free 

In  this  muddle  of  rhyme  to  adventure  an  oar  ? " 
"  Why,  lad,  don't  you  know  me  ?  "     "  Ah,  yes,  now 

I  see  ; 
Alma  Mater !  How  gladly  I  yield  you  the  floor  !  " 

"  Well  knew  I,  my  son,  I  had  only  to  glance 

At  the  place  with  such  filial  obeisance  resigned, 

To  be  favored  at  once  with  the  coveted  chance 
To    give    that  prim  prude    there  a  piece  of   my 
mind. 


282  ALUMNUS  AND  ALMA  MATER. 

"  Though  she's  so  far  away,  it  would  weary  a  bird 
In  a  day's  flight  to  traverse  the  interposed  scene ; 

Never  fear  but  I'd  manage  to  make  myself  heard, 
Were  there  fifty  Vermonts  lying  lengthwise  be 
tween. 

"  So,  Vestal,  you  think  yourself  specially  blest 
That  you  ne'er  rocked  a  cradle  nor  sung  lullaby ! 

How  dare  you,  with  beauty's  orbed  glory  of  breast, 
Its  whole  anatomical  purport  belie  ? 

"Had  our  foremother   Eve    never  vouchsafed    an 

heir, 

For  that  offspring  are  naught  but  incarnated  sin, 
I  would  fain  like  to  ask  of  your  sapience,  *  Where 
Would  her  possible  Adams  and  Eves  now  have 
been  ? ' 

"  From  the  day  the  first  minstrel  gave  voice  to  the 

lute, 
The  flowers  have  bloomed  out  in  all  manner  of 

lays; 
But  methinks  'twould  have  been  quite  as  well  if  the 

fruit 

Had  come  in,  now  and  then,  for  a  part  of  the 
praise. 

"  Had  you  followed  your  mother's  example,  my  lass, 
And  been  graced  with  the  crown  that  to  wifehood 
enures, 


ALUMNUS  AND  ALMA  MATER.  283 

You  wouldn't  have  thought  my  alumnus  an  ass 
For  asking  if  those  blessed  babies  are  yours. 

"  Now  just  look  at  me  and  the  honest  truth  speak — 
Am  I  not  still  erect,  buxom,  fresh,  debonair  ? 

Would  the  leaf  of  a  blush-rose,  if  laid  to  my  cheek, 
Be  seen,  or  if  seen,  look  discountenanced  there  ? 

"Yet  the  mandate,    'Be  fruitful,'    and  so  forth,  for 

years 
I    have    strictly   obeyed,    nor    once    dreamed    to 

ignore, 
Till  my  family  census  at  present  appears 

(Here's  the  catalogue,  Miss)  above  one  hundred 
score  ! 

"All  boys — every  one — an  adelphian  throng, 

For  I've  travailed  till  now  but  the  masculine  way  ; 

Though,  perhaps,  like  my  Oberlin  sister,  ere  long 
I  may  bring  in  the  crinolines,  just  for  fair  play  : 

"  For  if  the  first  Coelebs  went  sighing,  until 

A  sweet  chum  smiled  near,  as  we're  taught  by  the 

muse  ; 

Is  it  strange  that  his  celibate  offspring  should  thrill 
At  the  thought  of   the   same   rosy  cure   for   the 
blues  ? 

"  But  we'll  not  stop  to  ponder  what  may  come  to 

pass 
In  the  hopeful  Hereafter  that  fancy  foretells, 


284  ALUMNUS  AND  ALMA  MATER. 

When  the  honors  and  parchments  which  fall  to  each 

class, 
Shall  (a  full  half  at  least)  be  the  spoil  of  its  belles. 

"  To  return  to  the  boys — not  the  motherless  ones, 
That  your  Montreal  Bastile  forlornly  immures — 

Waifs — nullius  filii — nobody's  sons, — 

No  wonder  you  don't  like  to  own  they  are  yours  ! 

"  But  the  lads  I  am  proud  as  a  queen  to  call  mine, 
As  born  of  my  loins  and  fain  nursed  at  my  breast, 

Whose  heart  tendrils  all  with  my  own  intertwine 
In  a  plexus  of  love,  like  the  souls  of  the  blest. 

"  What  a  family  group  were  my  darlings  to-day, 
From  the  four  winds  recalled,  at  their  mother's 

knee  found  ! 
The  ten-acre  Mission  Park  over  the  way, 

Could    hardly  make    room  for   a  good    hug   all 
round. 

"  Yet  proud  as  I  were  such  a  household  to  greet, 
I  have  barely  begun  my  maternal  career  ; 

Just  wait  till  I  give  Doctor  Hopkins  the  treat 
To  christen  and  bless  a  full  hundred  a  year  ! 

"  And  fear  not  my  motherly  means  will  give  out, 
Though  new  mouths  come  in  by  the  great  gross 
or  more ; 


ALUMNUS  AND  ALMA  MATER.  285 

Not  a  true  son  of  mine  but  will  strive,  never  doubt, 
That  Want,  the  gaunt  wolf,  shall  not  darken  my 
door. 

"  Not  one  of  them  all  I  have  sent  to  the  field 
To  bear  his  just  part  in  the  battle  of  life, 

But  would  rather  be  borne  to  me  stark  on  his  shield, 
Than  live  to  disgrace  me  by  shirking  the  strife. 

"  Wherever  their  lines  in  this  fair  world  are  cast, 
No  Tempe  can  charm  like  their  mother's  domain  ; 

And    the   years  in  her  lap  with   the   Muses    there 

passed, 
Are  those  they  would  soonest  live  over  again  !" 


ALMA  MATER  IN  TOWN  AGAIN  ! 

EAR  Alma  !  we   know  you   are  wise   as  Ju 
piter's  brain-mothered  daughter, 
And  love  your  fair  home  passing  well  in  beautiful, 

dutiful  Berkshire  ; 

But  your  visits  so  frequent  of  late  to  this  wonder 
ful,  thunderful  Babel, 
Are  riddles  immensely  beyond  the  uttermost  scope 

of  our  guessing. 
You  surely  have  heard  the  old  saw,  that  the  rolling 

stone  gathers  no  mosses  ! 
Do  wise  fellows  cotton  to  girls  whose  gadding  hints 

holes  in  their  stockings? 
The  spinning  of  street-yarn  is  not  the  kind  by  New 

England  commended 
In  spinster  or  wife,  and  of  all,  least  of  all  in  her 

paragon  mothers. 
For  you,   then,    O   Mater,   with   arms    so   freighted 

with  family  pledges, 
The  wife  of  John  Rogers  would  seem  a  childless 

forlorn  one  beside  you, 
286 


ALMA  MA""ER  IN  TOWN  AGAIN,         287 

To  wrest  your  dear  face  from  them  all,  twitch 
your  apron-strings  out  of  their  ringers, 

Bolt  nursery- door  and  make  tracks,  as  if  from  a 
pest-house  of  foundlings — 

Ah,  Alma,  for  you  to  turn  tramp,  we  couldn't  have 
dreamed  such  a  scandal ! 

It  may  be  all  right  you  should  give  tired  lap, 
arms,  and  bosom  a  respite — 

No  fondest  of  mothers  quite  likes  to  play  the  peren 
nial  fountain  ; 

But  where  was  the  need  you  should  seek  for  respite 
and  recuperation 

'Mid  the  roar,  and  the  rush,  and  the  crush  of  this 
metropolitan  bedlam  ? 

Our  Berkshire,  for  souls  tempered  right,  is  fraught 
with  serene  satisfactions  ; 

The  school-house  and  church,  side  by  side,  have 
nurtured  her  people  to  cherish 

The  golden  mean  of  content,  next  the  golden  rule 
of  the  Master. 

Her  streams  are  the  clearest  that  e'er  were  born  of 
the  cloud's  purest  crystals  ; 

Than  hers,  never  lake  mirrored  charm  of  sunsets 
more  kindred  to  Eden's  : 

In  Summer  her  valleys  and  hills  take  captive  the 
heart  of  the  stranger  ; 

In  Autumn,  his  faith  that  the  court  of  Iris  here  tis 
sues  her  rainbows  ; 


288         ALMA  MATER  IN   TOWN  AGAIN. 

In  Winter,  that   giants   are  camped  from  border  to 

uttermost  border, 
Their  white  tents  all  warded  the  while  by  Greylock's 

imperial  pavilion. 

But,  Alma,  since  all  these  delights  were  powerless 

to  hold  you  to  Berkshire, 
Pray,  what  was  the  magical  charm  that  sundered 

the  matronal  tether  ? 
We're  sure  it  could  never  have  been  the  bewildering 

glamour  of  fashion — 
The   craving  to  see  the  last  styles  of  coiffures  and 

panniers  prodigious, 
Wherewith  the  town  belles  so  astound  the  vision  of 

men  and  good  angels. 
Eureka  !  I  have  it  at  last — you  wanted  to  see  the 

scarred  veterans 
You  sent  to  the  field  in  their  prime,  to  push  things 

for  man  and  his  rights  ; 
And  as,  in  the  terrible  stress,  they  couldn't  break 

ranks  and  go  to  you, 
You've    followed    Mohammed's    wise    course,    and 

made  the  St.  James's  your  "  mountain." 
I  hope  you  didn't  dream  to  find  all   your  old  boys 

stelligerent  chieftains  ? 
Remember    that   He    who    records    the    aims    and 

the  efforts  of  duty, 
May  write  the  "  high  private's  "  as  high  on  the  page 

of  desert  as  his  general's. 


ALMA  MATER  IN  TOWN  AGAIN.         289 

Howbeit,  we  all,  great  and  small,  low  and  lofty, 

rejoice  in  your  presence, 
Whatever,  dear  Alma,  the  cause  that  has  brought 

you  again  unto  Gotham. 
We  welcome  you,  all,  heart  and  soul,  and  glowing 

with  filial  emotion, 
Take  pride  in  the  pride  you  must  feel  in  the  fame 

of  your  peerless  Justinian  ; 
Take   pride  in  your  matronly  pride  to  lean  on  the 

arm  of  your  Howard, 
Whereon  the   great  Martyr  oft  leaned  in  the  stress 

of  the  terrible  conflict  ; 
Share  your  pride  in  the   soldierly  son  whose   sword 

brought  the  might  of  a  legion 
To  Thomas,  death-doomed  by  the  foe,  on  the  banks 

of  the  red  Chickamauga  ; 
Ay,  thrill  with  the  pride  of  your  pride  to  gaze  in  the 

eyes  of  your  laureate, 
And  hold,  palm  to  palm,  in  your  own,  the  hand  that 

had  writ  Thanatopsis  ; 

To   think  how  your  pupil  had   come  to  be  so   suc 
cessful  a  Grecian, 
That   Homer  had  learned  from   his  lips  to  sing  in 

such  glorious  English, 
He  couldn't  tell  which  to   prefer,  his   own  or  the 

tongue  of  his  tutor  ; 
Then  mark  how  he  carried  his  years,  as  if  but  the 

down  of  a  thistle, 
And,  patting  his  white  locks,  exclaim  :    "  How  meet 

for  the  evergreen  laurel !  " 


HAPSBURGH'S    RAMPARTS. 

FROM   THE   GERMAN    OF    KARL    SIMROCK. 

|N  Aargau,  from  a  frowning  height, 

A  castle  mocks  the  cannon's  might  ; 
Who  bade  it  crown 
A  steep  that  on  the  clouds  looks  down  ? 

The  cost  was  Bishop  Werner's  care ; 
Count  Radbot's  task  to  plant  it  there  : 
Not  large,  but  strong, 
The  Hawksnest  perched  the  crags  among. 

The  bishop  came  and  viewed  the  pile, 
And  skaking  his  gray  locks  the  while, 
Said  :  "  Count,  no  wall 
Nor  rampart  have  we  here  at  all !  " 

"  What  matters  that  ?  "  the  count  replied  ; 
"  God's  temple,  Strasburg's  crowning  pride, 

Was  built  by  you, 

But  wall  nor  bastion  has  thereto  !  " 
290 


HAPSBURGH'S  RAMPARTS.  2gi 

"Yet  stands  secure  from  fire  and  sword, 
The  house  I  builded  for  the  Lord  ; 
But  'gainst  their  power, 
A  castle  needs  both  wall  and  tower." 

"  Well  spoken,  brother  ;  yes,  I  see  ; 
For  such,  strong  bulwarks  there  must  be— • 
Grant  brief  delay  ; 
I'll  have  them  here  ere  dawn  of  day.1" 

And  from  the  roused  vales,  far  and  near, 
His  summoned  hosts  at  morn  appear  ; 
And,  band  on  band, 
Around  the  fortress  take  their  stand. 

Then  rang  the  count's  horn  from  the  steep, 
And  roused  the  bishop  from  his  sleep — 
"  The  ramparts,  ho  ! 
More  magic  feat  what  power  can  show  ? " 

In  fluttering  wonder  from  his  bed 
The  bishop  to  the  casement  sped  ; 
And,  marshalled,  sees 
A  host  in  steel-bright  panoplies. 

With  blazing  bucklers,  man  to  man, 
Stand  like  a  wall,  the  count's  liege  ban  ; 
While  many  a  knight, 
High-mounted,  towers  in  stalwart  might. 


HAPSBURGH'S  RAMPARTS. 

Count,"  smiled  the  priest,  "heroic  pride 
In  walls  like  these  may  well  confide  ! 
For  naught  can  be 
So  strong  as  martial  loyalty." 


And  thus  may  Hapsburgh's  living  walls 
Forever  guard  its  menaced  halls  ; 
And  glorious  stand 
A  refuge  for  all  German  land  \ 


WONDER. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  NOVALIS. 

I  HE  mead  took  on  a  tender  green, 

Faint  bloom  about  the  hedge  was  seen  ; 
And  every  day  new  plants  appear  ; 
The  air  was  soft,  the  sky  so  clear  ! 
I  knew  not  how  my  eyes  were  spelled, 
Nor  how  that  was  which  I  beheld. 

And  aye  the  grove  more  shadowy  grew, 
As  birds  their  vernal  homes  renew  ; 
Whence  stole  to  me,  from  all  sides  round, 
Their  descant  of  melodious  sound  ; 
I  knew  not  how  my  ears  were  spelled, 
Nor  how  that  was  which  I  beheld. 

Now  gushed  and  revelled  everywhere, 
Life,  color,  music,  dulcet  air  ; 
And  all  in  such  sweet  union  met, 
That  each,  the  while,  seemed  lovelier  yet ; 
I  knew  not  how  my  sense  was  spelled, 
Nor  how  that  was  which  I  beheld. 
293 


294  WONDER. 

Then  mused  I,  Is't  a  soul  awakes, 
Which  all  things  thus  so  vital  makes  ; 
And  will  its  presence  manifest 
In  thousand  forms  by  Flora  drest  ? 
I  knew  not  how  my  sense  was  spelled, 
Nor  how  that  was  which  I  beheld. 

A  new  creation  it  must  be  ! 
Loose  dust  becomes  a  blade,  a  tree, 
The  tree  a  beast,  the  beast  a  man 
Complete  in  action,  shape,  and  plan  ; 
I  knew  not  how  my  sense  was  spelled, 
Nor  how  that  was  which  I  beheld. 

As  thus  I  stood. in  wildered  thought, 
With  pulsing  bosom  passion-fraught, 
A  charming  maiden  near  me  stole, 
And  captive  took  my  sense  and  soul ; 
I  knew  not  how  my  heart  was  spelled, 
Nor  how  that  was  which  I  beheld. 

The  greenwood  veiled  us  from  the  day  ; 
It  is  the  Spring  !  Love's  own  sweet  May ! 
And  now  I  saw,  in  this  new  birth, 
That  men  become  as  gods  on  earth  ; 
And  well  I  knew,  each  doubt  dispelled, 
How  all  was  so  as  I  beheld  ! 


THE  GIANTS  AND  THE  DWARFS. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  RUCKERT. 

(ROM  father  giant's  castle, 
Sublime  in  feudal  state, 
Forth  hied  his  buxom  daughter 

In  merriest  mood  elate  ; 
And  in  the  vale  she  found,  erelong, 

The  oxen  and  the  plow, 
And  eke  the  peasant  who,  to  her, 
Seemed  small  enough,  I  trow. 

Of  oxen,  plow,  and  peasant 
She  made  a  general  sweep, 

And  sped  them  in  her  apron 
Up  to  the  giant's  keep  ; 

When  father  giant  muttered  : 
"  My  child,  what  have  you  done  ?  " 

Quoth  she  :  "  Just  see  my  pretty  toys  ! 
O  my  !  what  lots  of  fun  !  " 

The  father  gazed  and  grumbled  : 
"  That's  very  bad,  my  dear  ! 
295 


'96         THE  GIANTS  AND   THE  DWARFS. 

Back  with  them  to  the  furrow, 

From  whence  you  hied  them  here  ! 

For  if  the  dwarfs  cease  plowing, 
The  fields  lack  tilth  of  corn  ; 

We  giants  en  the  heights  must  starve, 
So  sure  as  you  are  born  !  " 


WHERE  ? 

FROM   THE   GERMAN   OF   HEINE. 

HERE  shall  wanderer,  worn  and  hoary, 

On  his  last  long  couch  recline  ? 
Under  palms  in  Southern  glory  ? 
Under  lindens  on  the  Rhine  ? 

Shall  my  corse  to  earth  be  hurried 
In  the  waste  by  stranger  hands  ? 

Or  on  some  lone  coast  be  buried, 
Sea-dirged,  in  the  drifted  sands  ? 

All  is  one  !— God's  heaven  as  brightly 
Will  bend  o'er  me  there  as  here  ; 

And  its  stars,  like  death-lamps,  nightly 
Watch  my  slumbers,  just  as  near  ! 


297 


THE  FIRST  SONG. 

FROM   THE   GERMAN   OF    BARON    HOUWALD. 

|'ER  half  the  globe,  a  minstrel  guest,  I'd  strayed 

from  zone  to  zone, 
And   foreign   tongues   could   speak   and  write,   as 

aptly  as  my  own  ; 
I  heard  the  great  ones  of  my  time,  familiar,  call  me 

friend, 

And  oft  from  thrones  saw  royal  hands,  to  welcome 
mine,  extend. 

Now  on  the  Switzer's  hoary  Alps,  then  where  Pom 
peii  sleeps, 

Anon  beside  the  Pyramids,  then  by  La  Plata's 
deeps — 

There  have  I  shown  my  lyric  power,  and  there  the 
poet's  verse 

A  thousand  hearts  reecho  fain,  a  thousand  lips  re 
hearse. 

At  length,  with  honor's  emblem  star  upon  my  swell 
ing  breast, 

298 


THE  FIRST  SONG.  299 

The  rapture  of  a  glorious  name,  my  bosom's  con 
scious  guest, 

I  turned  me  from  the  alien  lands  tow'rd  that  mag 
netic  spot, 

Where  stood,  in  childhood's  happy  years,  my  long- 
forsaken  cot. 

And  when  from  the  last  hill-top,  by  the  old  Runen- 
Mall, 

I  saw  again  my  native  vale,  so  bowery  and  so 
small, 

With  conscious  pride  I  fondly  cried  :  Thanks,  Fate, 
miscalled  the  stern  ! 

How  unregarded  went  I  forth,  how  glorious  I  re 
turn  ! — 

Then  up  the  hill  a  woman  pale,  a  fair  child  in  each 

hand, 
Came  slowly  to  the  turfen  seat  near  which  I  chanced 

to  stand  ; 
And  resting  there,   a  strain  began,   with   voice  so 

sweet  and  low, 
Its  pathos  touched  me  to  the  heart,  yet  why,  I  did 

not  know. 

Then  modestly  I  questioned  her  :  Whence  came  this 

simple  song  ? 
She  answered  :  From  the  happy  days  of  long  ago, 

so  long  ! 


30O  THE  FIRST  SONG. 

A  young  friend  breathed  it  to  his  lyre  to  soothe 

love's  parting  pain — 
Ah,  then   I  fondly  recognized  my  own,  my  earliest 

strain  ! 

And  farther  asked  I,  earnest :  Who  gave  this  song  to 

thee? 
'Tis  known,  she  blushing  faltered,  to  no  one  but  to 

me  ! — 
So,  then,  thou  art  the  Mary  of  this  young  minstrel's 

spell  ? 
No  answer. — Pray,  where  lives  he  now  ? — Alas,  I 

cannot  tell  ! — 

No  news  of  him  has  reached  thee  since  ? — No  faint 
est  word,  not  one  ! — 

Has  he  not  written  other  lays  ? — I  know  but  this 
alone  ! — 

His  name  ? — Ah,  friendly  stranger,  the  vain  request 
give  o'er  ! — 

It  may  be  that  I  know  him  —  But  me  he  knows  no 
more  ! — 

Yet,  prithee,  sing  me  once  again,  just  once,  that 
little  song  ! — 

My  husband,  yonder,  waits  for  me  and  these  dear 
ones,  full  long  ! — 

And,  eftsoon,  in  the  winding  lane,  amid  the  low 
land  farms. 


THE  FIRST  SONG.  3O1 

I  saw  the  stranger's  wife  and  babes  clasped,  clasp 
ing,  in  his  arms. 

There  stood  the  lofty  poet,  whose  fame  world-wide 
was  flown, 

A  stranger  in  his  native  vale ,  to  all  but  One  un 
known  ; 

Stood,  where  of  old  he  sang  forlorn,  yet  less  forlorn 
than  now, 

And  gave  to  that  forgotten  song  the  garland  from 
his  brow ! 


THE    SISTERS    OF    DESTINY. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  HERDER. 

(ALL  not  Destiny  inhuman  ; 

Name  not  her  allotments  spite  ! 
Her  decree  is  truth  eternal, 
Clearest  proof  of  Love  supernal ; 
And  Necessity,  her  might. 

Look  around,  friend,  keenly  scanning 
All  things,  as  the  wisest  may  ; 

What  must  pass,  no  power  restraineth  ; 

What  can  stand  fast,  fast  remaineth  ; 
What  must  happen,  happens  aye  ! 

Lovely  are  the  fateful  Sisters — 

Not,  not  Furies,  wan  and  dire  ! 
From  their  fair  hands  softly  issues 
Endless  weft  of  magic  tissues, 
For  the  Graces'  soft  attire. 

Ever  since  sprang  youthful  Pallas, 
Perfect  from  her  god-sire's  brain  ; 
302 


THE  SISTERS  OF  DESTINY,  303 

She  the  golden  veil  prepareth, 
Which  the  starry  welkin  weareth 
In  the  aeons'  endless  train. 

And  the  Parcse's  gaze  hangs  steady, 

Fixed  on  their  supreme  employ ; 
As,  in  worm's  and  angel's  dower, 
Faultless  wisdom,  goodness,  power, 
Blend  truth,  harmony,  and  joy. 

Therefore,  call  not  Fate  inhuman, 
Nor  her  stern  allotments,  spite  ; 

Her  decree  is  truth  eternal ; 

Her  gifts,  proof  of  Love  supernal ; 
And  Necessity,  her  might ! 


THE  SMACK   IN   SCHOOL. 

[ID  Berkshire  hills,  not  far  away, 

A  district  school,  one  Winter  day, 
Was  humming  with  the  wonted  noise 
Of  three  score  mingled  girls  and  boys  ; 
Some  few  upon  their  tasks  intent, 
But  more  on  furtive  mischief  bent, 
The  while  the  master's  downward  look 
Was  fastened  on  a  copy-book  ; 
When,  suddenly,  behind  his  back, 
Rose  sharp  and  clear,  a  rousing  smack, 
As  'twere  a  battery  of  bliss 
Let  off  in  one  tremendous  kiss  ! 
"  What's  that  ?  "  the  startled  master  cries  , 
"That,  thir,"  a  little  imp  replies, 
"  Wath  William  Willith,  if  you  pleathe— 
I  thaw  him  kith  Thuthannah  Peathe  !  " 

With  frown  to  make  a  statue  thrill, 
The  magnate  beckoned  :  "  Hither,  Will  !  " 
Like  wretch  o'ertaken  in  his  track, 
With  stolen  chattels  on  his  back, 
304 


THE  SMACK  IN  SCHOOL.  3°5 

Will  hung  his  head  in  fear  and  shame, 
And  to  the  awful  presence  came — 
A  great,  green,  bashful  simpleton, 
The  butt  of  all  good-natured  fun. 

With  smile  suppressed,  and  birch  upraised, 

The  threatener  faltered  :  "  I'm  amazed 

That  you,  my  biggest  pupil,  should 

Be  guilty  of  an  act  so  rude — 

Before  the  whole  set  school  to  boot — 

What  evil  genius  put  you  to't  ? " 

"  'Twas  she  herself,  sir,"  sobbed  the  lad  ; 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be  so  bad  ; 

But  when  Susannah  shook  her  curls, 

And  whispered  I  was  'fraid  of  girls, 

And  durstn't  kiss  a  baby's  doll, 

I  couldn't  stand  it,  sir,  at  all, 

But  up  and  kissed  her  on  the  spot  ! 

I  know — boo  hoo — I  ought  to  not ; 

But,  somehow,  from  her  looks — boo  hoo — 

I  thought  she  kind  o'  wished  me  to  !  " 


LOVE'S  ATTIC  IDYL. 

HEN,  erst,  from  "  keeping  company," 

To  keeping  house  we  went, 
As  poor  in  worldy  gear  were  we, 
As  rich  in  heart  content. 

Two  chairs  were  ours,  but  on  my  word, 

One  only  was  required, 
For  you  my  lap  as  much  preferred, 

As  I  your  choice  admired. 

Three  goblets  graced  our  dresser  trim, 

But  one  the  board  supplied  ; 
And  where  your  red  lip  kissed  its  brim, 

That  was  my  nectar  side. 

One  eve,  some  twelvemonth  from  the  date 

Our  wedding  tablet  bore, 
The  doctor's  gig  stopt  long  and  late 

Before  our  anxious  door. 

And  when  at  last  it  stole  away 
Our  gravely-smiling  guest, 
306 


LO  VE'S  A  TTIC  ID  YL.  307 

A  little  rosy  stranger  lay 

Beside  your  fluttering  breast. 

No  sleep  that  night  surprised  my  joy, 

Or  dulled  my  fond  amaze  ; 
Our  first-born  babe  a  baby- boy  ! 

What  could  I  do  but  gaze  ? 

Some  other  strangers  since  have  come, 

And  still  we've  room  for  more  ; 
Don't  blush — all  told,  the  precious  sum 

Is  not  yet  half  a  score. 

And  Fortune,  too,  though  fabled  blind, 

Has  found  our  attic  nest, 
And  left  memorials  behind, 

That  speak  the  gracious  guest. 

Ah,  were  our  sands  of  wedded  life, 

Computed  as  they  fall, 
How  far  its  blessings,  gentle  wife, 

Would  oversum  them  all  ! 


DAME  SALISBURY'S  PUDDING. 

DARE   say  you've  heard,   but   if  not,   now 
you'll  know, 
That,   down   East,   when   a  colleger's   pocket   runs 

low, 

He  just  looks  about  for  some  vocative  school, 
And  makes  for  it  straight  as  a  duck  for  a  pool. 
Well,  once  on  a  time,  forced  by  Fortune  to  search 
For  the  shiners  myself,  having  cut  me  a  birch, 
In    a    certain    quaint    district,    while     "  boarding 

around," 

Cosy  quarters,  at  last,  at  the  Deacon's  I  found  ; 
Where  the  snug  kitchen  still,  as  in  primitive  days, 
With    its    arm-chairs,    and    settles,    and    cordwood 

ablaze, 

Was  the  heart  of  the  home,  and  more  comfort  en 
shrined, 
Than  scores  of  your  new-fangled  parlors  combined. 

'Twas  a  Saturday  eve,  and,  by  custom  antique, 
Hasty-Pudding  must   crown   the  last  meal  of    the 
week  ; 

308 


DAME  SALISBURY'S  PUDDING.  309 

So  the  great  iron  pot  for  concocting  the  same 

Was  presently  hung  o'er  the  jubilant  flame, 

And  the  goodwife,  forewarned  by  "  help's  "  frequent 

default, 
With  her  own  hand  made  sure  the  right  quantum  of 

salt. 
She  had  scarce  left  the  hearth  when  her  eldest-born, 

Rose, 

Bloomed  in,  and,  all  innocence,  dittoed  the  dose, 
And  glided  away  (how  the  charm  of  the  place 
Seemed    to   vanish   at   once  with   her   beauty   and 

grace  !) 

As  Sue,  sweet  sixteen,  tripping  in,  followed  suit, 
Unawares,  with  a  fresh  supersaline  salute, 
And  was  gone  like  a  sylph  as  "  help  "  darkened  the 

door, 
And  astonished  the  brine  with   a   round    handful 

more, 

Then  hied  for  the  meal-tray  and  ladle  ;  whereon 
I  up  with  the  near-standing  salt-box  anon, 
And  in  with  the  whole,  laughing  :  "  There,  I  opine, 
If  this  pudding's  too  fresh,  faith  the  fault  wont  be 

mine  !  " 

By  and  by,  when   transferred  to   the  white-kirtled 

board, 
And  each  plate  with  a  Benjamin's  portion  was 

stored, 
Flanked  with  syrups  of  maple  and  patties  of  gold, 


310  DA  ME  SA  LI  SB  UR  Y '  S  P  UDDING. 


i 


nd  milk  the  town-pump  never  uddered,  behold 
The  Deacon  said  grace  with  the  unction  and  air 
Of  a  mortal  scarce  worthy  such  fit-for-gods  fare  ; 
Then  fell  to,  stopped  short,  sputtered  :   "  Lot's  wife  ! 

O  my  ! 
Who   salted    this,    Martha?" — "/,   husband    dear, 

why  ? " — 
"So  did  I,  Ma,"  blushed  Rose;  "and  I,"  tittered 

Sue  ; 
"Goodness'   sake!"    exclaimed    "help,"    "why,    I 

salted  it  too  !  " 

Then  quoth  I  :   "  Add  me  in,  for  the  truth  to  confess, 
I,  likewise,  my  friends,  had  a  hand  in  the  mess, 
As  the  air  in  the  salt-box  my  witness  will  be  ; 
For,  seeing  you  all  with  its  contents  so  free, 
I  followed  your  savory  example  perforce — 
At    Rome,  you  know,   one  does  like  Romans,   of 

course  ! " 

"Well,  friends,"  smiled  the  Deacon,  "just  taste  now, 

and  see 

If  your  palates  with  mine  don't  exactly  agree  : 
That  too  many  cooks  are  as  sure,  in  plain  troth, 
To  better  a  pudding  no  more  than  a  broth  !  " 


THE  ROOTED  SORROW. 

|HEY  may   preach   as   they  please,  smiled  the 

fair  Leonore, 
That  beauty  has  wings,  but  I  find  it  not  so — 
My  image  still  wears  the  same  graces  it  wore. 

When  I  looked  in  the  bridal-glass,  summers  ago. 

The  cheek  of  the  matron  perhaps  may  betray 
A  shade  less  of  rose  than  embellished  the  girl's  ; 

But  the  tint  is  as  fresh,  and  the  dimple  as  gay, 
As  the  maiden  ones  kissed  by  these  glossy  brown 
curls. 

Thus  saying,  she  brushed  the  fair  ringlets  aside, 
And  gazed,  but  the   smile  was   soon  chased  by  a 
frown, 

As  her  eye,  in  the  tale-telling  mirror,  espied 
A  strange  silver  thread  interlacing  the  brown. 

Anon,  through  her  tremulous  fingers  she  drew 
The  tress  in  whose  ambush  the  pale  spectre  lay  ; 

But  alas,  too  impatient  for  clearness  of  view, 

She  banished  three  dark  hairs  to  one  of  the  gray ! 


3  1 2  THE  R  0  O  TED  SORX  O  W. 

Again  and  again  to  the  task  she  applies, 

Resolved  her  fair  brow  shall  be  rid  of  its  shame, 

Till  warned  to  relinquish  her  hopeless  emprise, 
Since  the  brown   locks  alone  were  the  worse  for 
her  aim.    . 

The  moral  of  this  is  to  bear  and  forbear, 

Let  time  do  his  worst  with  our  gardens  of  rose  ; 

Lest,  seeking  to  root  out  one  innocent  tare, 

We  wound  but  the   flowers  where   it   harmlessly 
grows  ! 


TO  ESTELLE. 

IJEVER  see  me  more,  you  say  ! 

And  worse  yet,  Forget  me  ! 
But  pray,  how  can  I  obey, 
If  the  fates  won't  let  me  ? 

Were  primeval  gloom,  Estelle, 
These  charmed  eyes  to  visit  ; 

I  should  see  you  just  as  well 
Without  light  as  with  it ! 

Nay,  to  heighten  your  surprise, 
When  you've  grandly  wondered  ^ 

See  you  just  as  well  sans  eyes, 
As  with  Argus'  hundred. 

As  for  that  "  Forget  me," — ah  ! 

Prithee  don't  renew  it ! — 
'Ti?>  not  in  mandragora 

To  begin  to  do  it. 

Image  of  such  witching  grace, — 
Love's  own  photographing — 

Lethe's  self  could  ne'er  efface, 
Though  one  died  of  quaffing  ! 
313 


SOME  VIEW  THE  WORLD. 

JOME  view  the  world  with  jaundiced  eye, 

And  see  but  one  sad,  sallow  tint  ; 
And  some,  with  vision  so  awry, 

All  seems  to  mock  them,  squint  for  squint 

But,  brother  of  the  sickly  spleen, 
This  bilious  reflex  you  may  find 

Less  oft  the  tinge  of  objects  seen, 
Than  of  your  own  discolored  mind. 

Just  take  contentment's  magic  glass, 

Obedient  to  the  wiser  muse, 
And  you  shall  see  the  sallow  pass 
Into  the  rose's  charming  hues. 

And  you,  my  captious,  cross-eyed  friends, 
Who  see  all  outward  forms  awry  ; 

The  muse  a  sovereign  means  commends 
Their  mocking  lines  to  rectify. 

Take  hope's  kaleidoscope,  and  all 

Your  shivered  p)ans  and  faded  dreams 
Once  more  to  perfect  shape  shall  fall, 

And  elow  with  all  their  pristine  beams. 


WHEN  I  WAS  RICH. 

JHEN  I  was  rich — ah,  doleful  When, 

So  doomed  to  evanescence  ! 
What  strong  attractions  centered  then 
In  my  complacent  presence  ! 

How  brightly  fell  the  golden  sands 
Of  careless,  cloudless  leisure ! 

How  fain  were  fashion's  jeweled  hands 
To  feel  my  answering  pressure  ! 

Where'er  I  sauntered,  hats  were  raised, 

As  if  a  prince  were  passing  ; 
Whate'er  I  said  or  did,  was  praised 

As  meet  for  highest  classing. 

My  taste,  my  style,  my  gait,  my  dress 
For  all  times,  cool  or  sultry — 

My  whole.,  indeed,  was  nothing  less 
Than  culture's  ne  plus  ultra. 

If  cards  went  out  for  feast  or  rout, 
No  soul  their  magic  slighted — 

Storm,  whirlwind,  megrims,  blues  nor  gout, 
Kept  home  my  dear  invited. 


310  WHEN  I  WAS  RICH. 

They  pledged  my  name  in  many  a  toast, 

As  proud  sons  might  a  mother's  : 
"  Whatever  fate  befall  our  host, 
He  still  shall  find  us  brothers  !  " 

And  so  I  did,  till  Fortune  frowned, 
Then  snapt  the  brittle  tether  ! 

And  all  my  dear  good  friends  I  found 
Blind,  deaf,  and  dumb  together. 

Of  every  tie,  from  first  to  last, 

Their  memory  showed  no  vestige  ; 

The  glamour  of  my  wealth  once  past, 
What  had  I  left  of  prestige  ? 

My  wines  were  drunk,  my  coffers  drained, 
My  halls  and  lands,  another's  ; 

Myself  my  only  friend  remained, 
Of  all  that  band  of  brothers. 

Ah,  well  !  to  each  his  several  road, 
The  false,  the  frail,  the  fickle- 
Content  may  reap  where  Folly  sowed, 
If  Wisdom  lend  her  sickle  ! 


MY  TAILOR  AND  I  IN  THE  LATE  PANIC. 

,  quoth  I,  the  suit  is  well  enough  ; 

I  find  no  fault,  with  stitching,  style,  or  stuff: 
But  as  for  this  marsupial  display, 
What  crotchet  could  have  led  you  so  astray  ? 
Are  you  such  Rip  Van  Winkle  of  a  goose 
As  still  to  dream  that  pockets  are  in  use, 
When  Astor  scarcely  can  with  truth  be  said 
To  have  the  handling  of  a  single  '  red  '  ? 
Pockets  in  times  like  these  ?  sir,  'tis  no  less 
Than  wasteful  and  ridiculous  excess  ; 
As  who  should  build  a  many-chambered  bin, 
In  a  great  dearth,  to  garner  nothings  in. 
Out  with   your  shears  !     Come,   man   alive  !  don't 

shrink, 

But  off  with  these  lean  sarcasms  in  a  twink, 
Whose  presence,  like  the  spendthrift's  empty  purse, 
But  serves  to  make  the  aching  void  still  worse. 
Well  done  !     And  now,  with  no  more  fret  or  fuss, 
That  patient  little  bill  I'll  honor — thus  : 
"  Cashier  of  Hades'  Bank,  at  blind  man's  sight, 
Pay  bearer's  ghost,  and  debit  mine.       ALL  RIGHT." 
317 


SOFT  AND  SOFTER. 

NE  eve,  in  velvet  bravery  arrayed, 

As  Phil  sat  toying  with  his  darling  maid, 
Her  little  buxom  waist's  bewitching  charm 
The  while  half-folded  in  his  furtive  arm  ; 
He  took  her  dimpled  hand,  and,  with  a  smile, 
Stealing  it  gently  o'er  the  silken  pile, 
Asked,  in  a  tender  silence  of  love-chat, 
If  palm  e'er  fondled  aught  so  soft  as  that 

She  archly  answered  :    "  Might  I  venture,  pet, 
I  could  press  yours  on  something  softer  yet." 
With  sidelong  glance  of  amorous  mistrust 
Adown  the  graceful  neck  and  swelling  bust, 
Whose  ermine  cape,  his  daring  fancy  taught, 
Was  the  coy  'something'  of  the  maiden's  thought 
He  fondly  sighed,  to  fingers'  ends  a-thrill  : 
"Ah  !  dearest,  do — my  hand  is  at  your  will  !  " 
But  O  lost  rapture  ! — for,  no  sooner  said, 
She  gayly  clapt  it  pat  on  his  own  head  ! 


ALWAYS  CHEERFUL, 

|LWAYS  cheerful  "—yes,  my  friend  ; 

'Twas  my  motto  from  the  first, 
That  ill  luck  is  like  to  mend 

When  the  bad  has  reached  the  worst. 

Know  you  not,  the  arc  that  lies 

Deepest  in  the  rutted  clay, 
Is  the  sole  one  sure  to  rise, 

Let  the  wheel  roll  either  way  ? 

When  my  questioned  purse  is  dumb, 
Shall  I  whimper  ?     Nay,  but  sing  : 

Let  the  jingling  goddess  come, 

Now  there's  room  for  all  she'll  bring  ! 

If  the  merry  hint  she  slight, 

Still  I'll  carol  as  I  go  : 
Empty  pockets  are  so  light, 

By  my  fay,  'tis  better  so  ! 

Then  as  pomp  sweeps  bravely  by, 
Charioted  in  flashing  state  ; 
319 


320  AL  IV A  ys  CHEERFUL. 

Which  is  safer,  he  or  I, 

Needs,  methinks,  but  brief  debate. 

If  a  rein  or  axle  fail, 

Or  his  brisk  bays  mock  his  trust, 
Prithee,  what  an  ugly  trail 

He  may  leave  along  the  dust ! 

As  for  love,  why  fret  or  mope 
If  one  charmer  prove  unkind  ? 

Surely  'twere  more  wise  to  hope 
All  the  sex  not  quite  so  blind. 

Should  my  merits  find  them  so, 

This  shall  make  me  lighter  grieve  : 

"  Coelebs  !  what  a  world  of  woe 
Adam  found  in  finding  Eve  !  " 


'NUMBER  ONE" 


JOR  Christ's  dark  Rule  at  last  I've  got 

The  rendering  clear  and  true  : 
Do  unto  others  as  you'd  not 
Have  them  do  unto  you  ! 

Owe  no  man  anything,  says  Paul — 

As  if  he  knew  what's  right  ! 
/  say,  owe  all  you  can  to  all, 

And  keep  your  purse-string  tight. 

It's  waste  of  substance,  want  of  sense, 

To  pity  and  befriend  ; 
What  were  the  use  of  Providence, 

If  men  fulfil  its  end  ? 

Am  I  my  brother's  keeper  ? — Who 

Will  mind  the  risks  /  run  ? — 
No,  let  him  care  for  number  Two, 

As  I  for  number  One. 

Free  course  to  tender  sympathies 
Let  generous  fools  accord, 
321 


322  NUMBER  ONE 

Who  dream  that  their  almsgiving  is 
A  lending  to  the  Lord. 

Who  casts  his  bread  upon  the  deep, 

The  waif  again  may  see  ; 
But  I  prefer  my  loaves  to  keep 

Safe  under  lock  and  key. 

The  starving  wretch  may  pine  and  die., 

With  curses  on  my  head  ; 
Yet  he's  as  many  hands  as  I, 

Then  prithee  why  less  bread  ? 

No,  Self's  the  sum  of  all  the  creeds 
Mankind  have  ever  known  ; 

And  he  is  lord  o'er  wants  and  needs 
Who  lives  for  self  alone  ! 


THE  DESTROYER  SUPPLIANT. 

]Y  so,  no  doubt — why,  look  you,  if  Macbeth 

With  only  one  foul  murder  on  his  soul 
Could  sleep  no  more,  though  lapped  in  softest  down. 
Nor  ever  smile  again  but  just  such  smiles 
As  pain  enforces,  or  galvanic  art 
Wrings  from  the  ghastly  pallor  of  the  dead  ; 
How  should  this  monster,  whose  lorn  victims  far 
Outnumber  all  the  breaths  he  ever  drew 
From  his  first  birth-gasp,  hope  to  close  his  eyes 
For  one  brief  moment's  slumber,  or  cajole 
His  cheek  with  other  than  sardonic  joy  ? 
Turn  where  he  may,  his  nostril  cannot  shun 
The  taint  of  blood  in  all  the  general  air  ; 
And  not  a  wind  that  visits  him  but  wreaks 
On  his  quick  ear  a  hell  of  human  groans. 

For  him  whose  hand  first  stained  the  shuddering 

earth 

With  life's  most  sacred  crimson,  never  more 
Was  there  to  be  or  peace  with  outward  foes, 
Or  amnesty  of  conscience  from  within. 
323 


324  THE  DESTRO  YER  SUPPLIANT. 

Most  meet  it  is,  then,  that  this  Cain  of  Cains, 
Whose  crimes  have  drenched  a  continent  in  gore 
Sluiced  from  innumerable  fraternal  hearts, 
Should  see  a  foe  in  every  human  face, 
In  every  hand  a  scourge,  in  death  itself 
No  refuge  from  the  Nemesis  that  haunts 
The  guilty  soul  through  aeons  of  despair. 

While  stands  he  lifting  his  red  hands  to  heaven 
For  strength  to  consummate  his  awful  will 
On  her  who  bore  him,  crowned  his  petted  youth 
And  faithless  manhood  with  her  richest  gifts 
(To  find,  at  last,  as  Agrippina  found, 
Herself  the  mother  of  her  deadliest  foe  !) — 
Athwart  the  whole  broad  land,  from  sea  to  sea, 
And  upward  from  the  dwelling  of  the  palm 
By  sunny  shores  and  islands  ever  green, 
To  the  bleak  mountains,  at  whose  snowy  paps 
Are  nursed  the  infant  rivers  that  amaze 
Ocean  himself  with  their  majestic  port — 
From  every  city,  village,  hamlet,  grange, 
The  voice  of  lamentation,  day  and  night, 
For  loved  and  lost  ones  lifts  its  hopeless  wail. 
And  hark  !  from  Europe's  overcrowded  realms 
The  moan  of  famished  millions,  from  whose  hands 
The  iron  will  of  this  grim  suppliant 
Withholds  the  means  whereby  in  squalid  dens 
The  meagre  crust  by  patient  toil  is  won. 
And  hark  again  !  the  burden  of  that  cry 


THE  DESTROYER  SUPPLIANT          325 

His  own  gaunt  slaves,  in  awful  earnestness, 
Press  on  his  helpless  horror  :  Give  us  Bread  ! 

Oh  man  of  blood  !  oh  thruster  of  the  hilt 
Into  the  grasp  of  frenzy  !     God  forbid 
That  we  should  curse  thee  for  its  bitter  wounds  ; 
Remembering  WHOSE  is  vengeance,  and  withal, 
That  they  who  take,  "  shall  perish  with  the  sword  !  " 


GIGANTOMACHIA  BALTIMORENSIS. 

iUPER  in  urbe  Monumentorum 
Erat  conventus  Intrepidorum, 
Qui  nominarent,  manu  aut  ore, 
Unum  e  pluribus,  antique  more, 
Tollere  sceptrum  quatuor  annis, 
Alba  qua  domus  stat  Jonathanis. 

Multae,  reipsa,  tune  erant  partes 
Suis  faventes,  multaeque  artes  ! 
CASSIUS,  inquit  hie,  MARCIUS,  ille, 
Noster  est  dux  inter  homines  mille  ; 
Tertius,  se  judice,  nullus  sequalis 
Gigantis  esset  occidentalis  ; 
Ssepe  in  ore  dum  erat  BUCHANUS, 
Inclytus  ccelebs  ac  Pennsylvanus. 

Jungitur  pngna  turn  viribus  totis, 
Quisque  pro  suo,  verbis  et  votis  ; 
Omnibus,  tamen,  post  omnia  furta, 
Triduo  manet  victoria  incerta  ;• 
326 


GIGANTOMACHIA  BALTIMORENSIS.      327 

Palmaque  cara,  tarn  viridis  visu, 
Cum  fere  adepta,  abripitur  risu. 
Denique  cunctis,  nunc  defatigatis 
Ictibus  multis  receptis  et  latis, 
Subito  Stella,  splendidior  sole, 
Albis  de  Montibus  magna  cum  mole 
Surgens  ad  polum,  ministrat  lumen, 
Undique  radios  spargens  ut  numen  ! 

Illico  omnes — En  !  omen  benignum  ! 
Ecce  Mars  ipse  !  victrixque  signurr.  . 
Sub  quo  bellantes  certe  vincemus, 
Si  nosmetipsos  viros  praebemus  ; 
Agmina  tarn  profiigantes  Whiggorum, 
Spoliis  onusta  Intrepidorum, 
Hostium  ut  in  exitu  certaminis 
Macula  vse  !  non  erit  liquaminis  ! 

NON  MARO. 


NOTES. 


PAGE    1 6. 

Monument  Mountain  is  a  remarkable  precipice  on  the  con 
fines  of  Stockbridge  and  Barrington,  from  whose  summit  all 
Berkshire  is  visible,  from  Greyloch  on  the  north  to  Taconic  in 
the  south. 

PAGE   28. 

Jonathan  Edwards  was  the  second  pastor  of  the  Stockbridge 
Church  for  nearly  seven  years,  having  been  called  thence  to 
the  presidency  of  Princeton  College,  January,  1758.  The  house 
in  which  he  wrote  his  famous  treatise  on  the  "  Freedom  of  the 
Will,"  etc.,  etc.,  is  still  standing,  apparently  untouched  by  the 
frosts  of  time. 

PAGE  114. 

Their  Kubleh,  or  the  place  to  which  they  look  whilst  per 
forming  their  holy  ceremonies,  is  that  part  of  the  heavens  in 
which  the  sun  rises,  and  toward  it  they  turn  the  faces  of  their 
dead. — Layard's  Nineveh,  Vol.  I  (Yezedis). 

PAGE    115. 

"While  they  were  yet,  it  may  be,  about  a  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  from  the  Indian  town,  a  little  before  break  of  day, 

329 


33°  NOTES. 

when  the  whole  crew  were  in  a  dead  sleep,  one  of  these  women 
took  up  a  resolution  to  imitate  the  action  of  Jael  upon  Sisera  ; 
and  being  where  she  had  not  her  own  life  secured  by  any  law 
unto  her,  she  thought  sue  was  not  forbidden  by  any  law  to 
take  away  the  life  of  the  murderers  by  whom  her  child  had 
been  butchered." — Cotton  Mathers  Magnalia  Christi. 

PAGE    T22. 

"  This  village  (Zinzenam)  has  its  name  from  an  extraordi 
nary  circumstance  that  once  happened  in  these  parts.  A 
shower  of  rain  fell,  which  was  not  properly  of  tne  nature  of 
rain,  as  it  did  not  run  upon  the  ground,  but  remained  very 
light,  having  scarce  the  weight  of  feathers,  of  a  beautiful 
white  color,  like  flour." — Brute's  Travels  in  Abyssinia. 

See  also  "  Cloud  Crystals,"  etc.  Edited  by  a  Lady.  D. 
Appleton  &  Co.,  1864. 

PAGE  138. 

Lines  read  at  the  dedication  of  the  Soldiers'  Monument,  at 
Stockbridge,  Mass.,  Oct.  17,  1866.  If  my  memory  does  not 
err,  the  little  town  furnished  twenty-eight  volunteers,  several 
of  whom  never  returned  from  the  terrible  conflict.  It  was 
well  represented  also  in  the  Revolution,  both  at  Bunker  Hill 
and  Bennington. 

PAGE  162. 

Thus  death  reigns  in  all  the  portions  of  our  time.  The 
Autumn  with  its  fruit  provides  disorders  for  us,  and  Winter's 
cold  turns  them  into  sharp  diseases  ;  and  the  Spring  brings 
flowers  to  strew  our  hearse  ;  and  the  Summer  gives  green  turf 
and  brambles  to  bind  upon  our  graves. — Jeremy  Taylor. 


NOTES.  331 

PAGE    214. 

Proem  to  Centennial  Echoes,  Lee,  Mass.,  Sept.,  1877. 

When  the  continental  march  of  silvan  destruction,  which 
began  at  Plymouth  in  1620,  reached  this  far  inland  valley,  it 
must  have  presented  a  scene  unsurpassed  for  beauty  in  the 
whole  temperate  zone.  It  seems  formed  on  just  the  right 
scale  to  satisfy  the  taste  of  a  lover  of  nature,  to  whom  the 
sublime  in  scenery,  is  not  an  indispensable  requisite  to  its 
perfect  enjoyment.  If  to  the  simple  inhabitants  the  leafy 
world  around  them  ever  suggested  any  artificial  change  in  its 
conformation,  they  were  utterly  destitute  of  all  mechanical 
appliances  for  effecting  it.  The  landscape,  therefore,  re 
mained  year  after  year,  just  as  it  had  existed  for  untold  ages. 
Spring  and  Summer  draped  it,  as  of  old,  in  their  green  man 
tle  ;  Autumn,  in  vesture  more  gorgeous  than  ever  adorned  the 
tiring-chamber  of  kings  ;  and  Winter  folded  in  its  gracious 
ermine  the  latent  life  in  death  so  soon  to  rejoice  in  another 
vernal  resurrection.  From  lateral  ridge  to  ridge  all  was  one 
unbroken  forest,  save  where  the  beneficent  river  had  blest  its 
dusky  children  with  treeless  intervals,  to  which  even  their 
destitution  of  the  proper  instrumental  means  could  give  the 
semblance  of  agricultural  life. 

Into  this  primitive  solitude  came  our  hardy  ancestors  some 
seven  score  years  ago,  bringing  with  them  the  wants  and 
habits  of  civilized  society  ;  and  if  perchance  they  also  brought 
a  taste  for  natural  beauty,  it  must  have  been  smothered  or 
quite  extinguished  by  the  hard  necessities  of  their  surround 
ings.  For,  to  the  pioneer,  bread  is  especially  the  staff  of  life  ; 
and  to  win  it  from  the  wilderness,  his  axe  must  first  dispel  its 
"boundless  contiguity  of  shade,"  and  let  the  rain  and  sunshine 
find  free  access  to  the  dark,  dank  soil,  never  glorified  by  the 
golden  footprints  of  Ceres.  So  the  primitive  beauty  of  the 
Berkshire  Hills  was  obliged  to  give  place  to  the  stern  neces- 


332  NOTES. 

sities  of  the  resolute  pioneers,  who  established  in  the  heart  of 
the  Housatonic  Valley  the  famous  Indian  Mission,  of  which 
old  Stockbridge  became  the  central  point. 

In  the  verses  which  I  shall  have  the  honor  to  read,  1  have 
sought  to  sketch  merely  the  three  local  aspects  above  indi 
cated  :  namely,  the  aboriginal  silvan  beauty ;  the  blotches 
and  blemishes,  the  rawness,  roughness,  and  general  disfigure 
ment,  of  what  I  venture  to  call  the  STUMP  AGE  ;  and,  lastly, 
the  loveliness  that  now  smiles  upon  us  from  every  side,  as  if 
our  Alma  Mater  were  conscious  of  her  peerless  charms. 
How  much  these  may  be  heightened,  and  what  new  oner- 
added,  during  the  lapse  of  another  century  of  continued  im 
provement  under  the  fostering  care  of  LAUREL  HILL,  FERN 
CLIFF  *  and  similar  associations  throughout  the  county,  the 
eye  of  imagination  only  can  now  dimly  discern.  When  village 
and  hamlet  and  isolated  farm-house  shall  all  have  been 
touched  by  the  wand  of  refined  taste,  our  Berkshire  will  be  so 
charming,  that  the  mere  thought  of  its  coming  beauty  makes 
one  feel  that  he  was  born  too  early,  and  wish,  with  Franklin, 
that  he  might  be  permitted  to  revisit  his  native  land  after 
each  hundred  years'  slumber  in  its  maternal  bosom. 

*  Chartered  societies  for  ornamenting  the  respective  villages.  They 
extend  the  public  walks,  and  plant  trees  along  them  each  season. 


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